Châtain Foncé & Nightmares
by Noir Lime Canuto
Summary: "Right," she conceded, feeling her cheeks burn a little again. There was another empty silence, and he was still looking back at her. "Why're you up so late?" / The waltzing account of a clumsy and pink-faced acquaintanceship.
1. Nox

** Disclaimer: **_Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended._

_**Châtain Foncé & Nightmares**_

It started out as perfectly normal. He was walking along the deserted road that lead to his house, watching wildflowers as they passed him by. He stopped, and bent down to pick a particularly pretty blue flower, with large silky petals. His fingers just barely wrapped around the stem when he became suddenly disoriented. Up was down and left was... well, he couldn't really figure what left was. All he knew was that he was falling down and the light from the lane was growing dimmer and dimmer above him.

He stopped falling, it seemed, except his stomach still lurched as if he were. It was dark, but lighter than it had been. He was in a small room, lit by candle light. He wheeled around wildly, looking for the source of the light. Finally, he happened upon a little yellow candle. Beside it was a large, four-poster bed, and inside the bed lay a beautiful, tired looking woman with bright blue eyes.

"Theodore, help me," she whispered, a worried frown crossing onto her face.

He reached out a trembling hand, not sure that she was real, and confirmed her existence by brushing a stray brown hair out of her face. "I can't, mother," he tried to say, but the words wouldn't leave his mouth. Somehow, though, it was like the woman had heard him.

"Yes, you can. You're not trying... you won't help me? Why won't you help me? Why won't you try? Why won't you save me?" Her whispers turned to shouts. An unrealistic about of tears suddenly streamed down her face. He hadn't known it was possible to look so helpless and so violent at the same time.

He tried to shout, but he made no sound. Tears filled his eyes, and he shook his head vigorously.

_**eo0oe**_

Then he opened his eyes. Theodore realized that he'd been sleeping. He was panting. His face was wet from tears, and he pressed a hand against it, meaning to dry it somehow, but growing distracted as he took the room in.

Zabini, Goyle, Crabbe, Malfoy. All asleep. Most of them snoring. Loudly. Zabini was muttering something about a 'Daphne,' a tea-cozy and three deaf mice. He wondered for a fleeting moment what on earth Zabini was dreaming about before he once again recalled his own dream. Or, at least, parts of it. He remembered different images from the dream, but mostly he remembered the feelings. The peace, the falling, the guilt, the helplessness, the fear.

Pushing back his sheets, he slipped out of bed. He did this almost silently, but it that was more out of habit than out of concern for his fellow Slytherin's beauty sleep (though Crabbe certainly needed it).

Theodore sometimes wondered what it would be like to have a best friend. The sort of person you could always rely on, always confide in, always be with. It seemed there were some benefits, and some draw-backs. The benefits were obvious, and the draw-backs probably wouldn't have been draw-backs if he weren't Theodore Nott.

Theodore didn't like being around lots of other people. He didn't fancy thinking that he particularly disliked it, but that was mainly because it seemed an odd thing to dislike. Crowds were boring, and loud, and uncomfortable, and it meant people making meaningless conversation.

_ Some weather we're having, huh?_ They'd ask.

_I know, right? When will it stop raining?_ They'd reply.

_I heard it'll end on Thursday, but you know the Profit_, someone else would join in.

But what did the weather really matter? If they were worth talking to, they'd have something far more meaningful to talk about. They'd actually gain from the conversation.

He did like other people, though, sometimes. And sometimes he felt very, very painfully lonely. But he grew disgusted with himself whenever this occurred. Why should he feel lonely? He didn't need anyone else, and nobody needed him. And he didn't want petty companionships. He didn't want to be in some stupid gang, like the other boys his age seemed to be so keen on. Nothing good ever came from a mob mentality. Plus, he didn't need that fuzzy feeling that came along with being accepted as a part of some group. He recognized it, but he didn't get it as strongly as others did, and he knew that it was a weakness.

Theodore walked through the halls quietly, deciding to try to take the longest route possible to the library. It was hard to plan out routes, though, when staircases were constantly switching about and portraits went off on adventures. He enjoyed walking, it gave him time to think and calm down. He didn't like walking without a purpose, though, and simply calming down wasn't purpose enough. And so he was walking to the library.

After a long while, he finally reached the library doors. Casually, he opened the door and walked in. Once inside, he was met with the large, lamp-like eyes of Mrs. Norris.

"Why, hullo Mrs. Norris," he murmured with a small smile. "How are you this evening? Good, I hope?"

The cat blinked.

"Well, that's always nice to hear. I'm alright myself, just out for a stroll, you see. Care to join me?"

She blinked again, twice more.

"No? That's alright, think I'll just keep to the library then."

No response.

"Good evening, Mrs. Norris," he finished, with a smile, and walked past the cat and toward the many shelves of books.

After lingering for only a moment more, the cat walked out of sight, though her pace implied no urgency.

Theodore always took the time to exchange pleasantries with Mrs. Norris, even when he thought they would be wasted on his fellow humans. Clearly, she was a clever cat, and he decided that he may as well treat her with the respect and decency he would with any teacher. The fact that she never seemed to report him to Mr. Filch put them on friendlier terms.

_**eo0oe**_

Hermione winced when she heard someone address Mrs Norris. That could only mean Filch. Well, she knew she was bound to be caught one time or another. It had been foolish of her to even dare to hope that she wouldn't get caught four nights in a row, especially when she hadn't even asked Harry for his invisibility cloak. But then, he would probably have reminded her that she knew better than to sneak off to the library to study in the middle of the night. And she did know better.

She froze in her seat, hoping maybe then Filch wouldn't see her. She realized shortly after, though, that her wand was lit up, and she smiled in spite of herself, whispering, "_Nox_."

As Hermione listened to the brief, one-sided conversation, she began to doubt more and more that it was Filch. She couldn't make out all of what the person was saying, but she could hear his voice. It wasn't as raspy or shrill as Filch's, it was smooth and refined. It was also unfamiliar, so it definitely wasn't a teacher's. Some student out of bed muttering about Mrs. Norris probably wasn't a threat, so Hermione turned back to her book, and murmured, "_Lumos_."

She heard footsteps, and looked up on instinct. Walking towards her, and yet seemingly unaware of her, was a boy who's face she recognized. Theodore Nott. He was a Slytherin. His dad was one of the death-eaters sent to Azkaban after the battle in the Department of Mysteries. He didn't talk much, and she hadn't honestly given the boy much thought.

His expression was utterly blank as his dark brown eyes scanned the rows of books. He had dark brown hair, so dark that it was almost black... there was a term for that. Wasn't it French? Right, his hair was _châtain foncé_, and poorly kept—though, to be fair, it _was_ the middle of the night. He was a tall, lanky, scrawny sort of boy, and he held himself with a sort of stiff elegance. He was wearing pajamas, navy blue in color, and the top seemed to have been buttoned incorrectly. He looked positively disheveled, and yet he was walking around as if he were perfectly well kept.

He scanned the books on the shelves above her for a few seconds before he finally noticed her and met her gaze. Hermione flushed a little, realizing she'd been staring. Now, he stared right back at her, face as blank as ever.

He didn't look as if he were going to say anything, so she felt she should. Otherwise they were would be staring at each other until one of them looked away, and then they'd have to pretend that they'd never been staring at all, which would be absolutely awkward. Though, speaking was a bit awkward, too.

"Good evening," she called to him with a nervous smile. It was hardly still evening, but it seemed absurd to call out 'good night.'

He nodded blankly in return, not breaking eye contact. Hermione cleared her throat awkwardly.

"You're Theodore Nott, right?"

Another nod.

"I'm Hermione Granger."

"I know," he finally said, "We've been in school together since we were eleven."

"Right," she conceded, feeling her cheeks burn a little again. There was another empty silence, and he was still looking back at her. "Why're you up so late?"

Hermione was expecting a 'Why are _you_?' but instead she got an actual answer, though she wasn't sure if it was sarcastic or not.

"I had a nightmare. Thought I'd come read."

_** zxXxz**_


	2. Familiarity

Disclaimer:_ Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling. I am in no way affiliated with her. This is not a profitable work. No copyright infringement is intended. Thank you._

_** Châtain Foncé & Nightmares**_

__**Chapter Two: Breeds Contempt**

_"Right," she conceded, feeling her cheeks burn a little again. There was another empty silence, and he was still looking back at her. "Why're you up so late?"_

_ Hermione was expecting a 'Why are _you_?' but instead she got an actual answer, though she wasn't sure if it was sarcastic or not._

_"I had a nightmare. Thought I'd come read."_

_**eoOoe**_

Theodore watched the Gryffindor, wondering vaguely how she'd respond. He was sure he seemed strange to her. He always got the impression people thought he was strange when he talked to them too much, which was one of the reasons he refrained from talking. Not that he really cared what they thought, but he'd rather nor waste his time on people unwilling to take him seriously.

Her cheeks were rather pink. That meant she must be embarrassed. Had he embarrassed her? With his staring? It wasn't his fault, she'd been staring first. It was certainly polite to stare when someone was staring at you. Hermione Granger was wearing a deep red bathrobe and her hair was pulled back into a messy braid, probably in some attempt to keep it from getting messier over night. She had very messy hair, though, he doubted it made much of a difference. It did look pretty in a braid, though, he wondered why she didn't wear it like that during the day, maybe then Ronald Weasley would finally make like a Gryffindor and ask her out.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she finally replied. She didn't seem to be making fun of him. She was watching him almost curiously.

"It's alright," Theodore replied, "I'm used to them."

"Do you have them often?" she looked a little alarmed, and he worried he'd said too much, but she looked a bit concerned, too, which he thought was rather kind seeing as they were hardly close.

Theodore shrugged, then hesitantly added, "Often enough, but when something happens often enough it loses effect."

She was frowning. Her lips were a light sort of pink, and he couldn't tell if they clashed or matched marvelously with her robe. "Maybe, but 'familiarity breeds contempt.'"

Theodore reached out a pulled a book off of a nearby shelf. He studied the title page, recognized the author, and closed it again, quickly putting it back on the shelf. When he looked up he saw that the Gryffindor was still studying him, and when he made eye contact she seemed to blush a little more. Ah, so she was embarrassed he'd caught her staring. He wanted to tell her that he didn't really mind, that he was rarely ever stared at, and that he liked experiencing new things like this, because then he could figure out how to fake-it in the future, but he didn't.

Instead, he said, "I believe that saying makes little sense in this context," he paused, then continued, his tone blank as ever, "It goes hand in hand with, 'too much of a good thing.' If you become overly familiar with something, you'll begin to dislike it—but that's assuming you didn't already dislike it. If you did, then you'd have 'too much of a _bad_ thing,' instead, and too much of a bad thing is a good thing. So, in my case, instead of familiarity breeding contempt, it's bred fondness. But, of course, I don't enjoy nightmares at all, but indifference is a step closer to fondness and a step away from hatred. So, really, having nightmares has, you could say, almost made me immune."

He grabbed another book of the shelf and began to study its title page.

_**eoOoe**_

Hermione was shocked, to say the least, when the quiet, disheveled boy who'd seemed to be less than enthusiastic about having a conversation with her suddenly started explaining, with an odd sort of logic, why he disagreed with her. She was about to reply when he took a second book off a shelf and began skipping it's pages. Was that meant to signal the end of their discussion? Was he really that uninterested? Was he trying to be casual? Why did Slytherins always have such straight noses? What book was that? Should she say something?

Then he looked up again, catching her staring again. She though that they mind end up setting some sort of record—which would be nice, because then she could see her own name published in one of these books.

"But just because too much of a good thing is bad it doesn't mean that too much of a bad thing is good. Being hexed once is awful, but being hexed more times is simply _more_ awful," she finally said, her words spoken rapidly as she tried to pretend like she hadn't been staring.

"It's possible to be hexed to the point where you're numb."

"Yes, but-but, what I mean it, what you said before—that hardly applies to all situations!"

He just shrugged again, which frustrated her. It had been so_ brilliant _when he'd talked, _interesting_, at least, why did he have to start being quiet again?

She waited a moment, hoping he'd say something more, but he didn't. She saw him reaching for another book as he placed the one in his hands back on the shelf, so she quickly added, "But—but I guess you'd know better than me how it is to have nightmares all the time. I'm sorry. That was rude of me."

He watched her with this large brown eyes again. She wondered if he was going to do anything at all, even shrug. The silence was growing uncomfortable again, but this time it was he who spoke. "It's fine. I'm glad you don't have nightmares all the time. I lied, anyway, you were right. They're just as bad every time, they don't really get any better."

_**eoOoe**_

Theodore felt a little bad. He'd made her think it necessary to apologize, which it hardly was. She hadn't done anything wrong. If she'd been rude, he hadn't notice. He didn't usually notice when people were rude—or polite, for that matter. It crossed his mind that perhaps he'd been rude, and that's why she'd apologized, but then that hardly made much sense. People were so confusing, they weren't logical creatures, they were all built of emotion and passion and selflessness. Girls, especially, were confusing, though he'd never admit out loud that he found one gender more complicated than the other.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she apologized again.

Theodore was certain that it wasn't necessary, so he quickly replied, "You don't have to apologize."

"No, I mean, I'm sorry you have to go through that—nightmares, I mean." The girl turned a little pink again and looked down.

He watched her, considering what to say. She finally looked up, seeming to think that he'd left by then, and he felt he should say something quickly, so he murmured, "Oh. Well, that's alright. Better a nightmare than the real thing."

She nodded and paused a moment before asking, "What book is that, by the way?" and gestured to the large leather-bound book in his arms.

He looked down at it and read the title, "_The Obliviator: Mnemone Radford and Her Work, A Biography by Garfip Daybridge_."

Her eyes lighted up a little, and she said, all to quickly, "Oh! I read that, it was wonderful! The bits on her theory were a bit vague, but a lot of it was censored out by the ministry in the English editions."

A small smile passed across Theodore's lips and he murmured, "I read it a while ago, thought it might be worth reading again," then he looked up at the girl, his smile fading a little, as though he'd just realized he'd been smiling, and he added, "There's a French version that's easy to find, but the theory's not much better. It just includes a bit more about how long your wand should stay in each position."

_**zxXxz**_


	3. Blood

Disclaimer:_ Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling. I am in no way affiliated with her. This is not a profitable work. No copyright infringement is intended. Thank you :)_

_**Châtain Foncé & Nightmares**_

**Chapter**__**Three: Stuttering & Blood**

_ A small smile passed across Theodore's lips and he murmured, "I read it a while ago, thought it might be worth reading again," then he looked up at the girl, his smile fading a little, as though he'd just realized he'd been smiling, and he added, "There's a French version that's easy to find, but the theory's not much better. It just includes a bit more about how long your wand should stay in each position."_

**eoOoe**

Hermione smiled a little herself. "I tried to find foreign editions, but my resources are rather limited. I'm muggleborn, you see." She wasn't quite sure that the last part was relevant, but thought it adequate excuse. Also, though she wouldn't admit it to herself, she wanted to see how the Slytherin would react to it. He seemed nice enough, but if he were a bigot he wouldn't be worth talking to.

"I bought it off a family friend," he replied, the blank expression on his face again. He was silent for a moment, turning to eye the bookshelf beside him again, then added, thoughtfully, "I'm pureblooded, but chances are I'm really a halfblood somewhere down the line. I think there's a point where one must chose between blood purity and incest."

Hermione wasn't sure that he'd made his position on the matter much clearer, so after pausing a moment to watch him study and reject yet another book, she asked, "And which would you chose?"

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow, and stated, simply, "Well, blood purity, naturally. No one in their right mind would go with incest."

"There are those who would argue with you," Hermione said, trying to keep her voice as impressively blank at her counterpart was able to.

"There are always those who are wrong," he conceded, "But I'm not sure where you're going with that."

A light blush rose in her cheeks again, and she looked at the bookshelf behind him, "Nowhere," she murmured, then added quickly, as she saw him pick up another book, "Which book is that one?"

His dark brown eyes met hers before he looked down and lifted the books thick leather cover to reveal the title page. "It's just an '86. No good. Looked older," he remarked, and placed it back where it had been, walking a little further down the aisle and closer to Hermione.

"You prefer old books, then?" she asked. She figured at this point she couldn't pretend they weren't having a conversation any more. She wondered if he wanted to, but he just seemed unaware that he should have been looking her in the eye the whole time they talked.

He shrugged, and she wondered if he'd grow silent again just as he said, "I suppose. Most of the modern books are about the things we learn in class—things I could ask the professors about. If I want to know about something that's being discussed and studied currently, I tend to look up specific things. If I just want a bit of light, interesting reading, I find that older books are better." Hermione nodded, stopping suddenly when she saw he was looking up at her again. The small smile returned to his face briefly once more as he added, "Also, old books have this smell about them, and the pages are golden, and the ink is faded and slanting, and it feels like you've just learned a secret even though it's in the library and really anybody can read it."

Hermione felt herself smiling, too. "I know how you feel."

Her smile faded a bit when she saw the startled expression on his face. "Do you?"

"Well, yes. That's just how I feel about older books. Sometimes they have useful information that people've forgotten, too. Sometimes it's interesting to compare them to the current texts and see how things have changed. Doxycide, for example, used to be thickened with Erumpent fluid, now we used crushed peonies," Hermione recited quietly.

"Yeah, I remember once Snape said I'd used the wrong ingredients for my Memory Potion. I couldn't figure out why I'd thought of the wrong ingredients, then I looked up the instructions in an older book of mine, and I realized we only started using Jobberknoll feathers in the past decade," the weedy boy said with a nod as he walked a little further down the aisle, looking at the different spines.

"I wonder why that was," Hermione remarked thoughtfully, flipping the parchment over of her Charms notes.

"Oh, I tested it," the boy said, looking over with his head tilted slightly to the side, "Made one with Jobberknoll feathers, another with Amphilan quills. It was interesting, with the Amphian quills the subject was a little less suggestible after, but he seemed to have come up with his own explanation. I suppose it seemed a better idea to control the person as much as possible, especially since the explanation could be worse than what they were trying to forget."

Hermione looked at the boy with a mix of admiration and suspicion, "Who did you test it on?" She recalled the way Fred and George often tried out their inventions on younger students.

"Crabbe and Goyle," he explained with a shrug, "I was glad they consented. They seemed the most susceptible and the most visibly alike intellectually."

"Oh. That was smart of you." The boy shrugged.

**eoOoe**

Theodore finally found a decent book. He hadn't read anything by the author before, but he'd seen him referenced elsewhere, and so he judged he'd be alright. Tucking it under his arm, he made for the nearest table.

He'd already sat down and spread out the book before he realized the Gryffindor was sitting across from him at the same table. He wasn't surprised to find her staring at him again when he looked up. He stared back for a moment, and was almost glad to see a familiar blush creep into her cheeks. He wondered if they hadn't been looking at each other entirely too long, and he figured she thought something along those lines, too, because she quickly gave him a weak smile and returned to her notes. He thought she'd caught him smiling back before she looked down again.

He also thought he felt her looking at him again as he read the first chapter, but he decided not to look up, not really in the mood for much more forced conversation. Although, he supposed, if he was to force a conversation with anyone, surely Hermione Granger wasn't the worst choice.

**eoOoe**

She knew she was staring again. She knew it was rude. But she couldn't help it—he was just so _interesting_. And he didn't seem to mind, anyway. After all, he'd smiled back. She watched his eyes flick across the pages at a pace that suggested he wasn't really reading, but she suspected he was anyway.

His eyes were very round. Rounder than her own, which had a sort of almond shape to them. His eyelashes weren't particularly thick, but they were long and thin and dark. She thought they suited him. His nose was long and thin, too, but it could hardly be described as dark. It was a little pale, like the rest of his skin, but it seemed to have some very, very light freckles that might have been more noticeable if they had seen more sun. His lips were light and unremarkable, his eyebrows thin and arched.

It was his hair she liked best, she decided, of all his features. It sort of reminded her of Harry's hair, in that it was dreadfully messy, but she doubted that it couldn't be brushed of that state. It was very shiny, she mused, capturing what little light there was coming from their wand's and reflecting it back in little strips. She liked the color, too. It was so very nearly black, but at the same time it was distinctly brown. She found this duality pretty and amusing and blushed again as she caught herself smiling.

**eoOoe**

Theodore had gone days without sleeping before, but he always knew it wasn't healthy. He didn't usually do it on purposes, he tended to just put sleeping off, like a chore. He knew he had an essay to write in History of Magic the next day, though, and as he was always tempted to sleep in that class (though he really did try to listen more than most people) he decided it would be better not to add to that by denying himself too much more sleep.

Closing the book, he tucked it under his arm again and returned to the shelf. He put it back in its place, then looked across the room at the Gryffindor to see that she was looking at him out of the corner of her eye. He ran a hand through his messy hair, unsure as to what would be appropriate to do. Just leave? Or acknowledge the earlier conversation? It had to have been a least two hours since they'd last spoken, but the girl had looked up at him, after all, so she must have been expecting something.

He nodded to her and called, "Good evening, then, Hermione," and turned to leave.

"G-good evening, Theodore," he heard her call back, and he smiled a little at her stutter. He thought he must have done something wrong to make her stutter in surprise like that, but at the same time, he felt inexplicably happier for the exchange.

**zxXxz**


	4. Knees

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling. I am in no way affiliated with her. This is not a profitable work. No copyright infringement is intended. Thank you :)_

_** Châtain Foncé & Nightmares**_

** Chapter Four: Knees**

_ He nodded to her and called, "Good evening, then, Hermione," and turned to leave._

_ "G-good evening, Theodore," he heard her call back, and he smiled a little at her stutter. He thought he must have done something wrong to make her stutter in surprise like that, but at the same time, he felt inexplicably happier for the exchange._

** eoOoe**

Hermione realized after Ron repeated the same sentence about three times that she'd been meant to respond.

"What? Sorry," she mumbled, looking sheepishly up at him. She'd been staring into her breakfast before, eating away at it, but she hadn't really been giving it her attention either. Instead, she'd been replaying the previous night's events in her head, wondering if she'd dreamed them, or hallucinated them out of sleep deprivation.

"Is everything alright, Hermione? You haven't said much today," Ron asked, and Hermione felt a little guilty as she saw genuine concern across his face.

"Just tired," she replied with an apologetic smile.

"Probably up studying again," Ron said, sending Harry a look across the table. Then he turned back to Hermione, "You know, you may be the cleverest witch and all that, but you _are_ human. And we'd all be really put out if you hurt yourself, working this hard all the time."

Hermione laughed, "Honestly, Ronald. You make it sound as if working hard is irresponsible."

"Working hard as you do, I reckon it is."

Harry made a muffled sort of groan from across the table, and soon Ron was distracted by the prospect of having double potions in the afternoon.

Hermione found herself staring at her toast again, and looked up self-consciously to see if anyone had noticed. Ron and Harry both seemed absorbed in their conversation, though. Glancing around the Great Hall, she found herself looking down the line of students sitting at the Slytherin table.

She noticed Draco Malfoy doing a startlingly accurate imitation of Professor Trelawny, and had to remind herself that it was _Malfoy _doing it to keep herself from laughing like the Slytherins sitting around him.

Then she noticed a certain Slytherin to Malfoy's left wasn't laughing. He was bent over a roll of parchment, his black-brown hair falling into his eyes. Theodore Nott.

e**oOoe**

Theodore was feeling a little nervous that morning. Had been since he woke up and heard Blaise Zabini boasting to Pansy about the grade he'd gotten on his essay. His History of Magic essay. The one that Theodore hadn't realized had been due several days before.

Theodore had always been on good terms with Professor Binns, staying a little after class to ask questions and doing extra research on papers—even though Binns was convinced his name was Teddy Newt. But despite this, he didn't suspect a paper three or four days late would go over well.

So, he'd decided to dedicate the morning he had free to writing this essay. The only problem was that it seemed he couldn't finish it on general knowledge, and he'd have to research several very specific details about the 1612 Goblin rebellion, which could take a while.

He sat for a few minutes with the tip of his quill running gently back and forth across his lips before deciding that any other details would have to be researched. Setting down the long black quill, he reached for a particularly golden looking roll, and sliced it open gingerly with his knife. He noticed Pansy give him a disapproving look, as she usually did whenever he cut something instead of ripping or biting it, and then looked past her as he noticed something far more interesting.

Hermione Granger was staring at him, all the way at the Gryffindor table. He saw a familiar shade of pink rise to her cheeks as their eyes met, but continued to return her stare.

She wasn't wearing her nightshift anymore. Now she was wearing a crisp white shirt with a Gryffindor tie running neatly down the middle. She was probably wearing a gray skirt, he guessed. Most girls wore skirts, and he sometimes wondered if it was required as part of their uniforms. It didn't seem fair, as pants were far easier to run in, and probably much warmer. Not that he'd ever worn a skirt, but he'd been dared into a kilt once when he was younger.

Her hair was messy and curly like usual. It didn't look bad, but it did look odd on her. Being Hermione Granger, everything she did was very neat and orderly, except, apparently, her hair. Theodore wished she'd wear it in a braid like she had the night before. It'd looked prettier then, hadn't overwhelmed her face to much. And she did have a pretty face, if you could get past being distracted by her hair, Theodore decided. She had slightly thin lips, but they were shapely, and they fit her face more than fuller lips would. Fuller lips would look odd in combination with her eyes, which were a shiny, medium sort of brown and quite almond shaped.

As he focused on her eyes again, Theodore noticed that she was still focused on his. He should probably look away, he thought. But then, she was looking at him, and though she was blushing a little she didn't seem to mind. Then, suddenly, she looked down at her plate. He kept watching her, but wondered if he was meant to stop.

She looked back up at him again, studied him for a moment, then offered a weak smile. Theodore hesitated, but returned it. Then Harry Potter said something to her, and she looked away. This time, Theodore thought it would probably be polite to look at his plate, so he did.

**e****oOoe**

"Hermione, what're you looking at?" Harry asked, an eyebrow raised. He turned around, trying to see whatever she'd been watching at the Slytherin table, and Hermione was silently thankful that Theodore Nott had chosen the moment before to finally stop returning her stare.

Not that there had been anything wrong with their awkward exchange. It would just have been difficult to explain, Hermione reasoned with herself, especially to Ron. Because Theodore was a Slytherin.

"Nothing, just daydreaming," she explained with a shrug.

"About exams, probably," Ron muttered, rolling his eyes. When Hermione didn't argue with him, he looked at her with concern again. "What're you going to be doing this morning?"

"What do you mean?"

"We have it open, before double Potions in the afternoon."

"Oh. Studying, probably. I'm behind on Charms."

"I thought you were two weeks ahead?" Harry pointed out, glancing back at the Slytherin table again suspiciously.

Hermione mumbled something about standards of being behind, and Ron snorted.

"Hermione, if you're going to study, at least study outside, would you? It can't be healthy to spend so much time in the library," Ron said.

"Fine, Ron, but only to humor you, not because anything you said is true," Hermione surrendered. Ron grinned, satisfied, and turned to Harry to discuss possible ways to legally do away with Snape.

**e****oOoe**

Theodore might have found some solace in the fact that he apparently wasn't alone in forgetting to write his essay, except for the fact that whoever else had forgotten had taken out all the necessary books on the subject.

"You're sure, Madam Pince?"

"Quite, I'm afraid, Mr. Nott. Would you like me to speak to the Professor?"

"Oh, that's alright, I'm sure that won't be necessary. But thank you, anyway, for you time, Madam Pince," Theodore said, with a weak smile, to the elderly witch standing opposite him. She was always very nice to him, far more so than with most students, but he wondered how she'd feel about him if she knew he sometimes visited her library at night and read her books.

"Well, the pleasure was all mine, Mr. Nott. I'll be sure to let you know if the books become available soon."

"Thank you," he murmured with a nod, and made his way out of the library, his half written essay clasped in one hand.

He walked through the school for a bit before heading out onto the grounds. It was a warm, sunny day with a few clouds hanging about in the sky. He figured most people must have thought it was nice out, because he could spot nearly all of the other Slytherins and Gryffindors from his year around the grounds, and plenty of students from other years who he couldn't identify by name. Theodore preferred snowy days, but figured that that day was tolerable enough.

**e****oOoe**

Hermione watched as the giant squid glided back and forth across the lake. It was sort of elegant, in a bizarre way, she thought, but maybe it was just how the sunlight hit it just then.

Having already finished catching up on charms, her Potions notes were scattered across her lap and in the grass beside her. She'd been afraid they'd blow away, but there was hardly a breeze to speak of. She'd gone with Potions because she figured she might do better in class if everything was fresh in her mind. Really, though, it was just revision. Mostly busy work.

She was starting to regret not going to watch Ron and Harry fly around the Quidditch Pitch, but she hadn't wanted to justify any comments Ron had made about her studying habits.

She watched as the giant squid did a particularly fancy turn before she noticed someone lying in the grass a little ways away. They looked quite comfortable, and she instantly considered laying down herself, before she recognized who it was.

A small smile found it's way onto her lips are she realized that she was noticing Theodore Nott again. She had probably seen him this often every day before, but she'd never payed him much mind until now that they'd spoken. She was a little intrigued, she'd admit, but she figured it was only because she hardly knew him. He was still a question in her mind, and she always wanted answers. So, judging by how her brain usually functioned, it was perfectly normal for her to give him more thought know.

He looked so very at peace, as if he were asleep, except his eyes weren't closed. Just lazily half-opened as he stared up at the sky.

So, since he wasn't sleeping, she wouldn't really be disturbing him if she said hello, would she? In fact, it would probably be polite. Since they were on speaking terms and all. And he was really only a good fifteen feet away, over there at the edge of the lake.

"Good morning, Theodore," she called over to him. She wondered after if he'd say anything back.

**e****oOoe**

Theodore tried to imagine the perfect snowstorm. It would probably be thundering, like a thunderstorm, with lightening glancing the sky, except snowing. He wondered if there was a spell that could conjure that. There was a spell for snow, and for lightening, but for a full out storm...

And then he heard someone call him good-morning. Well, actually, they called good-morning to Theodore, which didn't necessarily mean him. In fact, it was probably someone else. But he shifted up from his back onto his elbows and looked around anyway, on the off-chance.

Hermione Granger was looking at him. Which might have meant she'd called out to him, or it meant that she was simply staring at him again. He wondered if maybe she stared at everybody.

"Good morning, Hermione," he replied softly. He wondered if it would be rude to say good-morning if that hadn't been her calling to him. She wouldn't be offended, would she? He stared at her blankly for a bit, waiting to see how she responded.

**e****oOoe**

Hermione noticed they were both staring again, and replied, "Fine day, isn't it?" She felt a little silly saying it, but it seemed appropriate. It was a rather fine day, though not as cloudy as she preferred.

The Slytherin sat up and shrugged. Just shrugged. But didn't look away.

Hermione knew she sounded silly, but rambled on anyway, "Except, I wish it were a bit cloudier. It's funny, but I really prefer overcast days. I don't like everything so bright, it takes a little bit away from the colour for me. Easier to appreciate everything when it's a little grayer, more gentle, you know?"

He shrugged again.

"Though, I guess this is nice, too," Hermione said, suppressing a sigh, "The squid's enjoying it."

He glanced over his shoulder at the lake, the giant squid still gliding contentedly about. "Personally," he said, "I think he doesn't care too much about the weather. He just likes that we're all outside. Gives him opportunity to show off."

Hermione caught herself laughing a little, and wondered if he'd been joking. His expression was as blank as ever, so it was hard to tell.

"Did you come out here just to watch him, then?" Hermione asked, still smiling softly.

**e****oOoe**

"No, I came to finish an essay, but someone else has taken out all the books I need, so I doubt I'll get far," Theodore explained. He nearly pointed out that it wouldn't make sense for him to come out to watch the squid when he'd been clearly laying on the ground watching the clouds if anything, but hesitated just long enough for the Gryffindor to speak again.

"Oh, what essay? I could help—if you'd like," she offered, "I mean, I might have already started it."

Theodore wasn't sure how much help she could be, but decided that if he said no she might feel insulted, so he nodded and walked over to sit beside her.

Upon arriving in front of her, Theodore realized that there were scraps of potions notes on either side of her, and quickly sat down in front of her instead as she made to pick up the notes for him. He sat down perhaps a bit too quickly, because his leg nearly landed on hers. Luckily, he managed to maneuver himself in the last second so that it fell a little farther back, and their knees simply ended up together instead.

"Sorry," he muttered quietly, shifting his knee away.

** zxXxz**

Note: _A bit long, I know, sorry. Haven't updated in a while, though, so hopefully that's alright. This one's a little awkward, but Theo's a little awkward, so blame him not me |D;; Anyway, thanks for reading! I hope you like it so far :)_


	5. Goblins

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling. I am in no way affiliated with her. This is not a profitable work. No copyright infringement is intended. Thank you :)_

_** Châtain Foncé & Nightmares**_

** Chapter Five: Goblins**

_ Upon arriving in front of her, Theodore realized that there were scraps of potions notes on either side of her, and quickly sat down in front of her instead as she made to pick up the notes for him. He sat down perhaps a bit too quickly, because his leg nearly landed on hers. Luckily, he managed to maneuver himself in the last second so that it fell a little farther back, and their knees simply ended up together instead._

_ "Sorry," he muttered quietly, shifting his knee away._

** eoOoe**

Hermione mumbled something like, "It's fine," and set a neat stack of potions notes behind her, before turning to look up at the Slytherin again.

"Divination essay?" she guessed, studying the peace of parchment held face-down in his hand.

She was a little taken aback when her guess was greeted with a snort. She looked back up at his face, hoping for some sort of explanation.

**e****oOoe**

Theodore noticed that Hermione had reacted strangely, and tried in vain for a moment to read her expression. She didn't _like_ Divination, did she? She had the best marks in their year, _surely_ she wasn't _that_ silly.

He tried to consider his words carefully before he spoke them, then decided that he shouldn't care what she thought of him or Divination anyway, and spoke the first thing that came to mind.

"No, I'm not taking Divination. If I were taking it, though, I would need little help writing an essay, and I certainly wouldn't need to have done any research," he paused for a moment, noticing that the strange expression has disappeared, before adding, "Honestly, I'm just as good at making up rubbish as the author's of any of those _textbooks_."

**eoOoe**

Hermione let out a little, "Oh," and found herself more than satisfied with Theodore's explanation.

"To be honest, I left towards the end of third year. Completely preposterous. Don't get me wrong, though," she added, "We all know there are seers. Just not nearly as many as everyone would like to think, and _certainly_ none teaching at this school."

The corners of Theodore's lips twitched up again from across from her as he murmured, "You dropped Divination that early on? What a waste of a perfectly good inner-eye."

Although the trace of a smile disappeared rather quickly after he'd spoken, Hermione was confident that he'd been joking, and grinned. "Somehow, I imagine the world'll get on."

It was quiet for a moment again, then Hermione added, "So, is that why you took Arithmancy, then?"

Theodore nodded. They'd been in the same Arithmancy class for years, but there wasn't much to be done in that class as far as group-work. Each student had their own desk, and generally lessons consisted of a lecture and demonstration, then individual work. All the other students in Arithmancy seemed like part of the class room, except perhaps Justin Finch-Fletchly, to whom she'd loaned quills a few times.

**e****oOoe**

Theodore wanted to explain more, but wondered how Hermione would react. She'd acted oddly around the subject of blood purity the night before, so he thought maybe he should avoid it. But then, there wasn't much else to say about Arithmancy, and she was looking at him like it was his turn to say something.

"I nearly took Muggle Studies, too, but since I also took Care of Magical Creatures, Professor Snape said I couldn't take any more classes. I think he was trying to get me to drop 'Creatures, though, because he doesn't seem to think very highly of Professor Hagrid."

Hermione made another weird, unreadable face at him, and asked, "You almost took Muggle Studies?"

He shrugged, "I figure it's probably one of the more useful classes offered. Besides the basics, I mean. Blaise says it's useless unless you want to live with muggles, but I think it's ridiculous to think that muggle culture won't effect us when we're always side by side. We probably effect each other millions of tiny ways every day, so understanding muggle culture should help to better understand the wizarding world. Besides, we know things that they don't about magic, surely they know things we don't about science and mothimatics and skizicks and things."

Across from him, Hermione made another little sound, something like "Oh," then asked him again what his essay was on.

**e****oOoe**

"The Goblin Rebellion of 1612."

Hermione frowned, "You do realize that that was due several days ago?"

Theodore shrugged. "Didn't realize it several days ago, though."

Hermione thought back to her essay. She'd gotten a decent grade on it, but she'd been hoping for a mark higher than just an E.

"You don't have to help me. I won't be offended if you don't want to now that you know it's late." She looked over at the Slytherin, trying to judge if he was being sarcastic.

His face was as blank as it had been before. If he really was offended, he didn't show it.

"No, it's fine," she assured him. He nodded, his expression unchanged.

It was quiet again, and Hermione frowned. Then she asked, "Do I—do I come off as the sort who—who doesn't break rules, Theodore? Do most people think that of me?"

**e****oOoe**

Theodore was a little startled by her sudden insecurity. She raised her hand quicker than anyone in class, so he'd always assumed she was among the school's most confident.

"I dunno," he shrugged, "Most Slytherins do, probably. But there are a lot of Slytherins who'll find any flaw they can in a Gryffindor, so I wouldn't take that too much to heart," he paused then added, "I think you probably break rules sometimes, though, because you seem very rational to me, and only irrational people never break the rules—or always break them. Most people follow the rules that make sense, and even some of the ones that don't, so long as they don't have to go out of their way too much."

She looked a little relieved, and said, "Well—well, that's good, then. And I'd be happy to help you with your essay, what do you have so far?"

Theodore held out the half-finished essay to her.

**e****oOoe**

Hermione gingerly took the parchment from him, the fact that their fingers had brushed in the process barely registering.

Holding it out in front of her, Hermione read it over quickly. When she was done, she paused to study his handwriting. The letters were long and thin, slanted every so barely to the right. They held an odd sort of elegance, but differed greatly from cursive not only in that they were drawn in print, but in their overall lack of curving lines. They were sharp, bent, but held a sort of gentleness at the same time. Was it possible for handwriting to look fragile?

After half a minute of observation, Hermione passed the parchment back to him, ignoring the fact that their fingers had not brushed this time.

"It was interesting how you presented the goblins as heroes," Hermione remarked, her eyebrows slightly raised.

Theodore shrugged.

"Do you really think of it that way?" she tried.

He shrugged again. "Not exactly. I thought it would be more fun to write it as if I had that bias, though. Easier to write it with detachment, though I suspect many students wrote it from a more wizard-favoring perspective. So, I decided to play devil's advocate, instead."

**e****oOoe**

"So you think the goblins were wrong, then?" There was a different something unreadable in her face this time.

"No, I think they were right to rebel. Things got a bit too bloody too quickly, though, which wasn't right of them. I understand their anger, but if you want to change the way people think of you, you don't go exploding their pubs. Those sorts of decisions were driven by anger, not strategy, and probably only gave wizards something to rally around, alienating those who would have defended them," Theodore explained quietly. "Not that they had much else to do at the time, though," he added, "At least this put the fight for their rights on wizarding minds for the next few hundred years, though. In the long run, it probably set the stage for the more peaceful advances made later on."

She gave him another weird look, but this time she was smiling a little, which reassured him that he hadn't said the wrong thing.

"That'd make a fine paper," she murmured.

He shrugged.

"You just have to throw supporting facts in. Numbers of casualties and things. I could help, I remember that sort of thing pretty easily."

He shrugged, and was about to tell her that she didn't need to go to the trouble when he saw the look on her face—a look he could actually _understand_, finally—and realized how excited she was about helping him write the essay.

"Sure, that'd be great, thanks," he said, and opened his bag to take out ink and some quills.

**zxXxz**


	6. Revolutionary

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling. I am in no way affiliated with her. This is not a profitable work. No copyright infringement is intended. Thank you :)_

_** Châtain Foncé & Nightmares**_

** Chapter Six: Revolutionary**

_ He shrugged, and was about to tell her that she didn't need to go to the trouble when he saw the look on her face—a look he could actually understand, finally—and realized how excited she was about helping him write the essay._

_ "Sure, that'd be great, thanks," he said, and opened his bag to take out ink and some quills._

**eoOoe**

They finished the essay in about an hour, which should have seemed to Theodore like an awfully long time. He didn't usually spend that much time on essays unless they had to be several feet long. It felt like an awfully short time, though, and he only realized just how long it had been when he reflected back on events later.

He'd started off writing the new essay sitting across from Hermione, but soon that proved inconvenient. He kept having to pass the paper to her after every paragraph, or else reading it aloud as he wrote.

After a bit of that they repositioned themselves so that they were sitting side by side, but that still meant viewing the paper at awkward angles, and it caused Theodore's writing to go from spidery to spider-that's-been-stomped-on-y.

So, naturally, it was a matter of practicality that they ended up lying on the ground side by side. Theodore thought that it was lucky they were lying with their stomachs to the ground, because if they'd been on their backs (besides being inconvenient) their ties would've been showing, and they would've called attention to themselves.

Although not unheard of, it was incredibly rare for anyone to spot a Gryffindor and a Slythering lying on the grass together, and people would certainly notice and begin rumours about it.

Not that Theodore cared much about rumours (he'd never been the source of one before, but he figured he wouldn't mind too much), but he thought Hermione might mind if she gained some sort of negative reputation. Oddly, she seemed to care what people thought of her.

**eoOoe**

When the essay was done, Hermione rolled onto her side, propping her head up with one arm.

"So, you'd better hand that to Professor Binns now, huh?" she said. She hadn't meant to use any tone but a casual one, but she realized after she spoke that she sounded as if she were hinting at something. But what? She wasn't sure what she'd meant, really.

Theodore set the parchment about a foot in front of his head, then shifted round till he was on his back.

"You _are_ turning it in, aren't you?" This time her voice carried something different. Something she could actually recognize. Naturally, she was concerned he wouldn't hand it in. It seemed odd not to, but she was quick to worry, after spending such a long time on it.

Theodore nodded, folding his arms up under his head.

Hermione was tempted to say something like, "_Good_," but didn't want to continue the one-sided conversation if it was going to remain in that state. She _knew_ he could talk—and _well_—so it was beginning to frustrate her that he kept choosing not to.

She supposed she ought to lay on her back now, too, to match him. But they never seemed to follow normal protocol anyway, with their staring, so why should laying down be any different, she reasoned. Besides, laying on her back always felt weird and uncomfortable. She always slept on her side.

The main problem, though, was that she was now facing him when he wasn't facing her. She knew she wasn't doing anything wrong, but a blush snuck across her cheeks again as she studied him. She felt like he was going to turn around and catch her—catch her _what_, exactly? She mused to herself that she was being very silly, feeling guilty and nervous over absolutely nothing.

And so, ignoring the flush and the guilt, she watched him.

Looking at him in profile, his nose was more defined than it was head-on. It was mostly straight, but it dipped in a little, along the center of the bridge. Very slightly, though, and then it continued to slope out. The end of his nose wasn't sharp, she noticed, like some noses were wont to be. It was gently curved as it dipped in again above his lip. Not round, exactly, but certainly curved.

**eoOoe**

Theodore watched the few clouds present in the sky move slowly around.

Really, they must have been moving rapidly. They were quite far away.

He quite liked clouds. He preferred snowy days, of course, and thunderstorms, but clouds were certainly the best part of cloudy days.

Nobody could ever paint the sun, or the rain, or lightning well enough. Even snow never looked real on a canvas. But clouds could. All of Theodore's favourite paintings had clouds in them.

After a few minutes—or maybe it had been seconds, or hours—Theodore realized that he was being stared at.

Why was Hermione staring at him? He watched the clouds as he wondered this. He wished the clouds could tell him. Shortly after, he noticed how_ cloud_ and _could_ were spelled with all the same letters. Then, very shortly after that, his mind was on Hermione again.

Perhaps she was staring at him, waiting for him to say something. Or maybe waiting for him to stare back. She had to want something from him, to be staring at him, he decided.

Casting one last look at the clouds, he turned onto his side, propping his head up with an arm the same way she had.

Besides mirroring her position, he now copied her actions. The only thing she was doing was staring at him, so, in return, he stared at her.

It came to his attention that her eyebrows did not arch in the middle. Instead, they arched closer along the outside. Despite this, they fit her face perfectly. How could that be?

Her eyes were very unusual, he concluded. So, whatever factor in your eyes that determined the arch of your eyebrow must've been effected by your eyes. Theodore decided she had quality eyes.

Hermione had brown eyes. Theodore also had brown eyes, except he liked hers better. He didn't like his eyes, they reminded him of his Grandfather's. People were always telling him he looked like his Grandfather.

Hermione did not look like his Grandfather. She looked like... some sort of fairy. Not the real kind, the kind you imagine when you read stories as a child.

"You look like a fairy."

**eoOoe**

It was bizarre, the way he said it. Like it was an observation.

At first, Hermione had thought it was some sort of compliment. Then she remembered those Cornish pixies in second year, and wondered if it was an insult. If he had only said it with some sort of emotion...

But he'd just stated it. Like it was a fact.

She waited for an explanation for a while, watching him, but it seemed he had nothing else to say.

"You look like a revolutionary," she countered in the same matter-of-fact voice.

"Which revolution?" he asked.

Hermione tried to shrug, but it came off as an odd movement, with only one of her sholders available to move up.

"Any revolution."

"How?"

"Your features," she replied, being purposefully vague.

"Which ones?" he replied after a moment's thought.

"All of them."

He was quiet again for a moment, then asked her, "Top three?"

"Your eyes, your nose, your hair."

"My hair?" He seemed taken aback. Hermione was secretly pleased with herself at having gotten him to display some sort of emotion.

"Yes, your hair. It's not completely unkept, not barbaric. But it's not neat, either. It's only just barely too long, slipping in front of your eyes sometimes."

"And that's how a revolutionary keeps his hair?"

"Yes."

**eoOoe**

Theodore was absolutely confused, but intrigued.

He didn't care so much why she thought he looked like a_ revolutionary._ He cared _why_ Hermione thought he looked like a revolutionary.

Her reasoning was different from his own, but unlike most people's reasoning, he didn't automatically think it was inferior. It just gave him more to consider. Which was new, really. He usually dismissed the viewpoints of his peers.

"How is my nose like that of a revolutionary?" he asked.

Alright, so he was a bit curious as to her rationale about his _nose_. When he pictured a revolutionary, he pictured a French one, and the nose didn't really matter in his picture. Just the dated outfit, really.

"It's straight, but a little curved," she explained. "Not completely straight and thin, like an aristocrat's. Not completely round, either, like a peasant's. Defined, like a leader's, but not as defined as someone who's inherited their position."

What on earth noses had to do with social standing, Theodore hadn't any idea, but his confusion didn't show on his face.

"My eyes?" he asked, ignoring the fact that Hermione was blushing again. It wasn't worth analyzing any more, he decided. He was no good at analyzing _people_.

"Handsome, dark but bright."

**eoOoe**

"Dark _and_ bright is a contradiction."

Hermione was glad he seemed to overlook the other adjective. She hadn't really meant to say it, but she'd entered the habit of speaking out loud, and only realized her mistake after.

"Not in this case," she replied, "They're a dark brown, but there's a certain light in them. Some people, you look at their eyes, and they look flat. Yours have some sort of depth."

"I don't like my eyes."

"Why not?" Hermione couldn't think of what flaw he could find in them.

He did that strange half-shrug they'd been confined to, one of his arms supporting his head.

"I like your eyes better."

"_My_ eyes?"

He nodded. By now Hermione knew not to expect further explanation, so she asked.

"Why?"

"They're a nice shade of brown. Less gray than chocolate brown, but around the same shade. Your eyes are wide, but not perfectly round, like some peoples'. They slant a bit in at the ends. Your eyelashes suit them."

**eoOoe**

Theodore noticed Hermione was quiet for too long after he told her about her eyes.

Had he offended her? He hadn't meant to. He was just stating the obvious. Surely everyone thought that about her eyes.

But everyone was tactful, and Theodore knew he wasn't. He wasn't good at_ people_. Maybe everyone didn't say things about everyones eyes. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything.

But she wasn't glaring at him. Her eyebrows were scrunched a little, but it was more like she was concentrating than glaring, he hoped.

Finally, she said, "You think my eyes are pretty?"

The notion hadn't really entered his head until she suggested it. Pretty. Pretty?

He thought about her eyes again, then nodded.

She was quiet again for a while, then asked, "So, you meant the good kind of fairy, then?"

He nodded.

"The kind in storybooks?"

He nodded again.

"Oh." Some sort of new emotion was on her face, and Theodore strained to figure out what on earth it was.

"Are you upset with me?" he asked after struggling to read her face for a moment.

Hermione sat up.

"Why would I be upset with you?"

Theodore sat up, too, across from her. Then shrugged.

"I'm not upset with you."

Theodore nodded.

"Now, I'm upset with you."

"Why?"

"Because it's hard to talk to you when you don't say anything back."

Theodore shrugged. Hermione glanced out at the lake, and watched the giant squid for a while.

After a few minutes of Theodore watching Hermione, Hermione watching the squid, and the squid showing off, Theodore asked, "Are you still upset with me?"

Hermione turned to face him and shrugged.

Theodore frowned, "I wish you wouldn't be. I don't like it when you're upset at me."

Hermione smiled a little bit and replied, "Then I'm not, anymore."

This confused Theodore a lot, but he smiled back anyway, because he felt a little like smiling. Which also confused him. He pulled his knees up to his chin, then wrapped his arms around them, still smiling ever so slightly at the Gryffindor sitting opposite him.

**zxXxz**

Note: I know it's been forever, and I'm terribly sorry. Thank you so much for reading, I hope you liked this chapter. You're awesome, don't let anyone tell you otherwise because you don't deserve to be lied to.


	7. Possessions

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling. I am in no way affiliated with her. This is not a profitable work. No copyright infringement is intended._

_**Châtain Foncé & Nightmares**_

**Chapter Seven: Possessions**

_ Theodore frowned, "I wish you wouldn't be. I don't like it when you're upset at me."_

_ Hermione smiled a little bit and replied, "Then I'm not, anymore."_

_ This confused Theodore a lot, but he smiled back anyway, because he felt a little like smiling. Which also confused him. He pulled his knees up to his chin, then wrapped his arms around them, still smiling ever so slightly at the Gryffindor sitting opposite him._

**eoOoe**

They sat there for a while, smiling—just a little bit—at each other. Hermione noticed that his smile faded first, but tried not to let it bother her. She should be satisfied, she told herself, that he'd smiled even that much.

But then why should she? What was it to _her_ if he smiled or not?

She watched him, face now expressionless as his, and tried to understand. She'd never really spoken to him before the night before. Well, she might have said something, she didn't recall—but they'd never _really_ spoken.

He shouldn't mean anything to her, and certainly she didn't mean anything to him. They were becoming friendly acquaintances, but even that was yet to be set in stone. That meant that she had no claim over him.

She didn't want to _own_ him, or anything. She didn't want to keep him locked up for herself.

But she _did_ want something to be between them. Some sort of link. A solid one.

If they never spoke again after that morning, the link they were slowly building up would fizzle away. The structure was fragile; it could easily fall victim to the shiftings of time.

Even if they did speak again, if it was after too long a time, all would still be lost. It would be worse, even. Any conversation could feel contrived and awkward, where now it was unfamiliar but alive.

Looking at Theodore Nott, Hermione knew she didn't have a firm grasp on his acquaintance and, even knowing him so briefly, she was positive she wanted one.

**eoOoe**

Theodore was staring at her again, and this was okay, because she was staring back at him. He was beginning to feel a little less nervous about staring—at her, anyway. Clearly, she didn't mind it. Or, if she did, she was very poor at showing it. Either way, there was no rationale for him to stop staring.

Staring was the wrong word. Watching was better. Studying, maybe.

Theodore wondered how long they'd been out there. Just about an hour, right? Maybe a little over that.

He had a watch, but it didn't keep normal time. Instead, it told him how many hours before his owl would return. Since Locke was currently in the owelry, the watch was a little useless, but he wore it anyway out of habit. Originally, it had told him how many hours before his owl would have to be fed, but he'd modified it a bit in his third year.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked him suddenly.

She didn't say it abruptly, really, like she'd had some sort of surreptitious idea, but since they'd been quiet for so many moments, it felt, to Theodore, rather sudden.

He shrugged.

Shortly after he remembered how this would upset her, and hastily added, "Nothing, really."

"Is that so?" she raised an eyebrow at him. He was pretty sure it was playful, but he couldn't quite tell.

"Why? Did I look like I was thinking?"

Theodore didn't pay much attention to what his face looked like—he just never thought to. Sometimes, he'd remember, and he'd wonder if maybe he'd had an odd expression on all along. He usually only noticed when he caught himself smiling, or frowning, and those expressions usually faded shortly after that.

"I dunno, I can't tell."

This came as a relief. Theodore didn't want to be readable. He didn't think he was, but he couldn't tell, because to him, most people were pretty unreadable.

He wasn't sure exactly how to respond. Surely, he had to say something, because he didn't want her to get upset at him again and stop talking. He decided he'd politely return the question, which would hopefully result in her talking and him getting away with shrugging and nodding.

"Well, what were you thinking about, then, if I may?"

"Oh," her voice was calm as far as she could tell, but she turned a little pink, "Er, possession. What it means to have a claim to something, you know?"

**eoOoe**

It wasn't really lying, she figured. Hermione didn't like to lie, though she'd admit she was pretty good at it. The sorting hat had noted that, but dismissed the idea of Slytherin house rather quickly, finding Ravenclaw the closest alternative to Gryffindor.

"I suppose. I haven't given it much thought before, honestly," he replied with half a shrug.

"Well, what _do_ you think of it? Now that it's been brought up, I mean." Although she hadn't really been thinking about the topic in such a broad sense, she was genuinely curious to see what he'd have to say about it.

"Well, ownership isn't something that occurs in nature naturally. You may have territory, but you cannot do so in isolation."

"Isolation from..?" Hermione thought she understood what he'd meant, but wanted him to go on. Sometimes, if you suggested an interpretation of someone's idea, they'd just agree with you and drop their actual thought, which wasn't what she wanted at all.

"From other someones, I suppose. If you're alone in an area, everything's yours. Except, at the same time, nothing is yours. There have to be other people, a society, for anything to belong to you. It's yours because it isn't anyone else's. Yours to use or yours to trade. Posession only exists within societies."

"But can't a lion have a den?"

"There can be a den he returns to, but he won't recognize it as his own unless another lion wants it."

"So, do lions count as a society? I mean, I suppose they can form social groups, but some people don't think they're capable of having societies..."

Hermione trailed off. She wasn't sure if she'd just imagined it, but she could've sworn Theodore had snickered. And that traces of the smile he'd had were still lingering in the form of an upturned corner of his lip.

"Are you... What? What did I say?"

He looked like he was about to shake his head, but he was just silent for a moment, staring at her with those dark brown eyes.

Finally, he smiled, ever so slightly, again. It was the smallest of smiles, maybe it was even a grimace, but it was such a drastic difference from his usual absence of expression that Hermione noticed it at once.

"It's not funny, really, I don't know why I laughed."

"No, what _was_ it?" Hermione insisted, beginning to frown.

"You used an animal analogy that I found comical in this context."

"How so?"

"You picked lion first." Oh. So it was because she was a Gryffindor.

"Would you prefer for me to have said 'snake's hole' instead?" She didn't mean to sound defensive, but she was aware that she had.

He replied calmly, though, as if he hadn't noticed her change in tone, "No. Doesn't really matter to me. I hadn't thought it mattered to you."

"It doesn't!"

"You picked lion first," he reminded her matter-of-factly.

"Well..." she wanted to explain that loads of people used lion as their example for this sort of thing, but it seemed like sort of a weak excuse. So, instead, she shifted so that her chin rested on her knees, too. Facing him, she continued, "I picked lion first because they're large, handsome creatures, with broad faces, flowing mains, and carry themselves regally and boldly. Frankly, I think they really symbolize the way that possession is really a manifestation of conceit to some extent."

**eoOoe**

It took Theodore a moment to realize she was kidding. He hadn't been paying attention to his expression, but for some reason he felt he could be certain that it was something on his face that betrayed his thoughts and caused the girl sitting beside him to giggle madly.

"You know, Hermione, while I do think that that idea is _absolutely_ brilliant, I have to disagree."

"And why is that, dear Theodore?" she replied, grinning. He knew she was being silly on purpose, but it felt weird hearing his name come after the adjective _dear_. He wasn't sure _what_ exactly was weird about it, so he ignored the feeling and decided to analyze it later.

"Because, to put it in layman's terms, snakes are better."

"Oh?" She raised her eyebrows at him, still smiling crookedly, and tilted her head.

"Indeed," he continued, trying to sound pompous and serious at the same time, "You see, madam, it's really quite simple. While lions are _proud_, a snake is _ambitious_. Instead of being self-satisfied, it is a creature that constantly strives, through any means, to better itself. This, clearly, reflects the nature of capitalism, which is brought on by the idea of ownership and trade. For, without capitalism, there can be no innovation."

"Certainly, there needs to be incentive," she agreed softly.

"Which is why, surely, the serpent would be the greater choice."

"Fine, you've convinced me about the snake portion. But, what I really cannot understand, Theodore, is how you can favor a _hole_ over a _den_."

**eoOoe**

Hermione continued to argue facetiously with her companion for a while. She was going most of the laughing, but she'd noticed him chuckling quietly a few times, and he'd smile occasionally at something she'd said. The argument flowed through several subjects before settling on the century's greatest scholar.

"Certainly Rita Skeeter," Hermione said, shaking her head, "She's an absolute _pioneer_. Voice of a generation!"

"No, no, no, that's _simply_ all wrong. The obvious choice would be the great Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart," Theodore said, wagging his finger.

Hermione tsked and continued, "Rita Skeeter has encouraged even the most _illiterate_ people to read!"

Theodore shook his head passionately, furrowing his brow, and causing Hermione to giggle. She wasn't sure how he could suddenly become so expressive, but she supposed it was easier to be self-aware when you were acting as someone else.

"Gilderoy Lockhart has caused even the most _stable_ marriages to fall apart!" he quipped quickly. This caused Hermione, who was already laughing far too much for her own could, to burst into another fit of giggles. The harder she tried to stifle them the sillier she became.

Theodore grinned in reply then puffed his chest out in a gesture of mock pride, which hardly helped Hermione overcome her mirth.

**eoOoe**

Theodore couldn't help but grin when he saw what a state Hermione had been reduced to. He'd been laughing harder than he had in a long time, even if it was just chuckling, mostly, and he felt a bit embarrassed by it, but it made him want to laugh more, watching her laugh so.

She didn't seem to notice him look around the grounds, because she was taken a bit by surprise by what he said next.

"Hermione?" His voice was blank again, back to normal. She looked up at him, a small smile still on her face. "Everyone else is heading inside."

She glanced around, then looked back at him. Somehow, in that instance, she'd lost the smile.

"I guess we should probably, too, then."

Theodore nodded in agreement.

"D'you know what time it is?"

He shook his head, then added, "Lunch, I suppose, since it doesn't look like rain."

"Right." Theodore watched as she collected her papers and set them in her bag. They were all perfectly neat, set in different sections, he noticed. He saw her put his essay in her bag, too, but decided not to comment on it.

"Aren't you hungry?" He wasn't sure what the change in her mood _was_, but he thought there was one. Perhaps, he considered, it was because she was avoiding lunch somehow. By suggesting she might not be hungry, he was giving her an escape route, if she'd take it. All she had to do was say she wasn't hungry for lunch, and she could avoid walking back with him-

Was it that she didn't want to walk back with him? Surely that wasn't it. What was the difference between sitting with someone by the lake, and walking with them to lunch? In fact, the latter seemed far less incriminating, if anything.

"Now that you mention it, I suppose that I am," she murmured with a nod, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she stood up.

Theodore stood up, too, in one swift movement. He watched her face, trying to make sense of her expression.

Her lip was twitching. Not in a nervous way, so much, not like a tick. More like she was tempted to bite her lip, but consciously trying not to. Which meant there must have been something distressing her that wasn't too private, else she'd hide the anxiety completely, but she wasn't going to bring up on her own, else she'd just bit her lip.

Theodore wondered if it'd be rude to simply ask. But, if it was, what was the worse that could happen? he reasoned.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?" she replied too quickly.

"Is anything the matter?"

**eoOoe**

Yes. Yes something _was_ the matter.

The matter was that Hermione wasn't very good at saying good-byes. But it wasn't so much _saying_ goodbye to Theodore as saying _goodbye_. As soon as they entered the Great Hall, they'd be split up again. It was easy to forget houses in the middle of the night in the library, or out by the lake in the morning. They wouldn't be apart _forever_, but they _would_ be apart, which meant the _possibility_ of never being _un-apart_ again. She didn't want to... to lose him? He wasn't more important than Ron, or Harry, or Ginny, or anything, but he was nice to talk to—when he did talk, anyway. He was _interesting_. She didn't have to explain her references or facts to him, just her _ideas_, and that was a wonderful thing.

But she could hardly declare all that out loud.

"Not really, it's just," Hermione paused, and they looked at each other quietly for a moment. It felt different, staring into his eyes when she was standing up instead of on the ground or in a chair. She didn't want to lie to him. She _really_ didn't like to lie. And what was the harm in being honest, anyway?

Hermione breathed in inaudibly and said, "Theodore, will you talk to me again? After this?"

He nodded his head slowly.

Hermione almost laughed in spite of herself. "You think I'm mental," she stated.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't say _anything_."

"Anything _including_, 'You're mental.'"

"So, you will talk to me again?"

He nodded again. "Well, I hope so, but if you don't want-"

"No," Hermione interrupted, "No, I was just—I was just worried-"

"Because I'm in Slytherin?"

"Because we only just met."

"We've been in the same class for years."

"Because we've only just _spoken_." Because she only just noticed him and cared whether or not they'd ever speak again.

Theodore was silent for a moment, then asked, "So, you're alright with walking to the Great Hall with me?"

"Of course!" This time she really did laugh.

**eoOoe**

They walked in silence all the way across the grounds and inside, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence, at least for Theodore.

Hermione was the first to speak, and that was when they actually entered the Great Hall, before they were about to head to different tables.

"Here," she said, pulling the essay out of her bag and holding it out to him, "I wanted to make sure it got here safely."

"You didn't trust me with it?"

"No. It's just—what if it wasn't lunch at all, and everyone had gone in because of rain? The essay would've been ruined."

He was pretty sure she was kidding, but he smiled at the notion she wasn't, and gingerly accepted the parchment from her.

They stood there for a moment, before Theodore said, "Thanks. For helping, I mean."

"Sure, it was fun," she replied.

There was another moment of silence, this time less comfortable. Both were aware that it was plainly time to part ways. Theodore wasn't sure what to say, afraid he might say something inappropriate in relation to what she'd said before, about being unsure if he'd talk to her again. He didn't want to come off as rude, or to upset her.

"I'll see you, then?" Hermione finally said, fiddling with the strap of her bag and taking a step closer. He didn't think she'd meant for it to be a question, but it sounded like one.

"Of course," he stated simply. And it _was_ a fact, he reasoned mentally, because they had double potions that afternoon, and Slytherins were with Gryffindors for potions most days. Besides, they had Arithmancy, and Defense Against the-

It took Theodore a moment to register exactly what had happened.

Hermione was no longer in front of him, she was... against him? Or, rather, more in front of him, but to the point where he couldn't see her as well. Or, her face anyway, since her head was against his shoulder.

He was being _hugged_.

This didn't happen often, so it took him another moment to try to remember what, exactly, the proper thing was to do in that situation. When he did remember, he gently, hesitantly, wrapped his arms around her waist.

He held her firmly enough, but far more gently than she was holding him. It was like by hugging him tightly enough she could keep him from crossing to the other side of the Hall. Then she let go, bid him goodbye again, and walked quickly away to the Gryffindor table.

His feet moved him to his usual spot at the Slytherin table without his aide. He barely noticed he was moving. Instead, he was trying to figure out what in Merlin's name had just happened.

She'd been hugging him too tightly, except it felt good. He wondered if he had been supposed to hug back.

Between his anxiety over whether or not he'd been utterly manner-less and his inexplicable happiness about the embrace, Theodore was experiencing a weird mix of emotions as he ate away at his mashed potatoes, and didn't look up to see the glances being thrown at him from the Gryffindor table.

**ZxXxz**

Note: Thank you so much for reading, and thank you, also, so those who review. I don't think I would've written nearly this much without your encouragement, so thank you. I hope you liked this chapter. I can't say if I did, because I always hate things write after I write them, regardless of their true merit. I hope you do, though, like the direction the story is going in, and if you don't, or would like to suggest a direction, please let me know in a review because I'd love you feedback. Thankyou. :)


	8. Potions

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling. I am in no way affiliated with her. This is not a profitable work. No copyright infringement is intended._

_**Châtain Foncé & Nightmares**_

**Chapter Eight: Potions**

_ She'd been hugging him too tightly, except it felt good. He wondered if he had been supposed to hug back._

_ Between his anxiety over whether or not he'd been utterly manner-less and his inexplicable happiness about the embrace, Theodore was experiencing a weird mix of emotions as he ate away at his mashed potatoes, and didn't look up to see the glances being thrown at him from the Gryffindor table._

**eoOoe**

Hermione's head felt a bit foggy, like she'd just woken up. She barely noticed the odd looks she was receiving from Harry and Ron as she took a seat in between them at the table.

When it finally did register, she turned to Harry first for explanation. "What?"

Harry shrugged, trying to look innocent but not quite managing it. "Just didn't know you had any Slytherin friends."

"Oh," Hermione glanced over to the Slytherin table, where she saw Theodore putting some mashed potatoes on his plate. She looked back at Harry and added, "Well, I do."

"How do you even _know_ Nott?" Ron demanded suddenly from her right. Harry shot Hermione a look before she turned to answer him.

"Unlike _you_, he decided to take Arithmancy," she answered casually before turning back to face Harry. "So, how was Quidditch?"

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but it was Ron's voice Hermione heard.

"I thought you didn't like Nott, Hermione."

Hermione looked to Harry for explanation and then, receiving none, turned to face Ron again. "Why would you think that?"

Ron shrugged. "No one likes him, he's a git."

Hermione turned to Harry again for help but he'd strategically engaged Seamus Finnigan in conversation. Rolling her eyes, she turned to face Ron again with an air of finality.

"_I_ like him. He is not a git, Ron, honestly, just because he's a Slytherin-"

Ron rolled his eyes, "Sure, Hermione, whatever you say. Don't come crying to me when he hexes you or something."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, "When have I _ever_ come crying to _you_, Ron?"

**eoOoe**

Theodore was nearly done with his lunch, though he'd given it little thought, when he felt someone gently tug his arm.

"Hey, Theodore. Theodore? I need your help bit fast, alright?"

Theodore looked up to see a tall boy about his age beside him. He was thin like Theodore, but not in a weedy way. He was graceful, with the smooth features of a man in a portrait.

To be honest, Theodore didn't hate Blaise. He didn't really care enough to truly dislike him, but recognized that it would be a reasonable reaction to him. The boy was shamelessly manipulative and conceited. He was similar to Theodore in some ways, though. Neither of them belonged to larger groups. The difference was that while this made Theodore a bit of an outcast in Slytherin, it meant that Blaise was simply above all other groups and could come and go into any he deemed worthy of his presence.

He'd always humoured Blaise on the occasions that the boy decided that it was Theodore who would be used that day. He didn't let Blaise use him and spin him around the same way as the others seemed to, however. He regarded Blaise with relative indifference most of the time, which contrasted greatly with the intense love and admiration he seemed to naturally evoke from everyone else. Theodore would've thought this would push Blaise away, but instead it tended to draw him nearer.

Their relationship was an odd one. They certainly weren't friends, but if Blaise was in the right mood he pretended that they were. Sometimes Blaise even told people they were lovers, just to see what they'd think. He liked to try to push people into disliking him, but they never seemed to. Theodore never really felt one way or the other about him, except that he didn't usually approve of the way Blaise treated other people.

When they were younger Blaise had also told people they were brothers. They'd grown to look more different, but as first and second years they'd looked enough alike with their dark hair and eyes, tall slender figures. There were still some people who thought they were related. In fact, Theodore was sure that several third year girls who'd been told they were related were also under the impression that they were lovers. Blaise always seemed endlessly amused by this.

In any case, today was apparently one of those special days when Blaise wanted something from him. They were just friends today, it looked like. When Blaise decided they were lovers and linked his arm in Theodore's, he always called him Theo. When they were brothers his name was Teddy.

Theodore nodded, standing up from the table.

"Pansy and Daph have a bet going, and I need you to call where we'll be putting our money, alright, mate?"

Theodore nodded again. Blaise loved to gamble but was positively terrible at it. Theodore got no thrill from it but was absolutely splendid.

Blaise lead him over to the other end of the table, where a large cluster of girls in silver and green were sitting. They stopped towards the end of the group, and Blaise leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Daph says she can find her way through Hogwarts better because of her extra lessons, but Pansy says she can because of her many _adventures,_ the tart."

Theodore nodded, and Blaise continued, gesturing to the crowd. "They're deciding the terms of the competition now. I wager they'll end up locking them in classrooms deep inside the castle and seeing who can make it back to the dungeons first."

Theodore nodded again and Blaise watched him expectantly. Theodore wasn't sure what he was expecting, though, so he remained silent until the boy spoke again.

"_So_? Who do I put money on, mate?" Blaise added under his breath, "You'll get a cut of course, Theodore."

Blaise was aware that Theodore's allowances from home were inconsistent. When he'd decided they were going to Hogsmeade together in third year he'd noticed that Theodore was reluctant to get anything to eat despite the fact that his stomach had grown very loud, he interrogated him to find that he'd had to forge his father's signature on the permission slip and didn't have an allowance to speak of that year.

Theodore nodded compliantly, though the truth was he really didn't care either way. "Daphne."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "_Really_? But she gets lost all the time."

Theodore shrugged, "She does better than Pansy in Charms and Transfiguration. She has a better chance of getting through the corridors she _does_ know."

Blaise's face spread into a grin, "Brilliant, as usual, Theodore. Thanks." Theodore nodded and stood silently next to Blaise throughout the remainder of lunch.

**eoOoe**

"Hermione? You're not—not crying, or anything, are you?"

Hermione looked up as Harry entered through the portrait hole. Absentmindedly she put a hand to her cheek. Dry.

"No, I'm not. Why?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably and took a seat nearby her in one of the large plush armchairs. "I dunno, you left lunch in a bit of a hurry. You looked upset."

"Oh, no, well—yes, yes, I was upset, but not crying. Ron's just being an idiot, is all."

"He doesn't mean to be, he just—"

"I _know_ he doesn't _mean_ to be, Harry," Hermione interrupted, voice hard. "But that doesn't excuse it. He should know by now to be less... less _thick_."

Harry shrugged. "He'll get over it, it's just..."

Hermione studied Harry for a moment, but he didn't seem to want to continue. "Just what?"

"Don't get upset at me, Hermione—"

"I won't."

"—It's just that you and that Nott kid looked a bit _snug_. I think it set Ron off, is all."

Hermione's cheeks burned with what she told herself was anger. "_Snug_, were we? Because I hugged him? Honestly, Harry, how many times have I hugged _you_? And there isn't anything between _us_."

Harry sighed, "I know that. Hermione, but you've got to think about it like you're Ron. He's just a bit protective. He thinks of you... you're like his sister, you know? I mean, he _hates_ that Michael Corner kid, who I always thought was a bit of a ponce but still... Anyway, Hermione, it just means he cares."

Hermione crossed her arms and sighed. "I'm sure you're right, Harry. C'mon, let's get to potions. Snape won't want you to be late."

"Yes he will," Harry snorted, "He'd _love_ an excuse to give me detention..."

**eoOoe**

"...And then I told Midgen that grindylow blood cures acne, and she said, 'Really?' and I was like, 'Yeah. From one girl to another, that's how I keep my skin so perfect.' And she, like, nodded in _awe_. I can't _wait_ to hear how long she spends in the hospital wing after she tries it..."

Theodore couldn't help but feel a little pity for Elouise Midgen as Pansy went on about tricking her. He could only see a few of the faces of the girls in front of him, but if any of them were anything besides amused, he couldn't see it.

He was walking through the dungeons, keeping pace only with Blaise—or, more accurately, Blaise seemed to trying to keep pace with him—lagging behind everyone else as they made their way to potions.

"Theodore..." Blaise, it seemed, was finally revealing why he'd bothered walking beside him. Perhaps, he thought, there was more to the bet. He made eye-contact with the other boy, indicating that his attention was available.

"Theodore, I saw you with Granger at lunch." Theodore nodded for him to continue. "You're lucky, I think I'm the only one who did."

Theodore shrugged.

"I mean it." Blaise looked around for a second, then pulled Theodore to stand with him by the wall as the rest of the Slytherins walked on in front of them. Theodore shrugged again, which apparently frustrated the other boy, as he promptly rolled his eyes. After a moment of silence, Blaise looked at him steadily again, and spoke softer than was needed in the now-deserted corridor.

"Look, you fancy Granger, don't you?" Fancying Hermione had never occurred to Theodore, so he shook his head 'no,' though he wasn't sure how to respond honestly now that the question had been posed. "Don't like to me, Theodore. I'm trying to help you. Anyway, whatever _you_ think, you obviously fancy her. I don't really care what happens between you—no, actually, that's a lie; I want you to end up together because I like you, Theodore, and I'm a hopeless romantic—anyway, the point it, I couldn't care less about blood purity and all that rubbish. You, obviously, don't care either. But the rest of them... well, most of them, anyway, do, or at least pretend they do. People like _me_, Theodore, so they don't care if I do bad things like kiss muggleborns, but I swear to Salazaar if you and Granger start skipping through the halls holding hands you _will_ have your life ruined by Draco Malfoy and company."

Blaise waited for some sort of reaction, but Theodore just reflected silently on what he'd been told. Would Draco Malfoy _really_ care who he skipped down the halls with, even if they were muggleborn and Harry Potter's best mate? Draco hadn't cared much about him, before. He'd actually said once that Theodore was "just an accessory to Blaise"—which hadn't bothered him at all, though now he questioned why such a fuss would be made over an "accessory."

Blaise sighed and put a hand on each of Theodore's shoulders. "Look, as your brother, lover, gambling mate, and icy acquaintance... You're one of the few people left that I can tolerate here, Theodore. I know you don't care much about what happens to you, but for _my_ sake, you really ought to be more subtle with Granger. Don't do anything idiotic, comprends?"

Theodore wasn't convinced that anyone cared if he was friends or whatever with Hermione, but he nodded anyway. Blaise studied him for a moment, seemed to find whatever he'd been looking for in Theodore's face, and took him by the arm. "Right, well, we ought to get to potions, then," he muttered. In a moment they'd broken into a jog, Blaise's hand slipping to Theodore's wrist and remaining there the rest of the way.

**eoOoe**

Hermione had hoped she'd have a chance to say something to Theodore during potions, but every time she tried to get up for ingredients when she saw him out of his chair, Neville quickly insisted on going instead, obviously guilty that she was making his potion for him. She tried not to stare, not because she thought he'd mind so much as she was aware a certain redhaired wizard had been staring at her for most of class, trying to catch her eye. After managing to focus entirely on the potion for a good ten minutes, she decided it wouldn't do any harm to look over at him again and try to get his attention. While she did succeed in gaining someone's attention, it wasn't Theodore's but the boy next to him.

Blaise Zabini raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at her. Hermione wasn't sure how to respond, so she just looked blankly back until the boy smirked and did a little wave. Hesitantly, she lifted her hand to wave back. No sooner had she done this when Blaise Zabini elbowed the darkhaired boy beside him, who quickly looked up, eyes darting around the room until they set on Hermione.

Glancing a little desperately from her raised hand, to Blaise Zabini, to Theodore, she was caught between putting her hand back down or waving. Troublingly, Zabini was now positively grinning at her discomfort. She watched as Theodore looked from his potions partner to Hermione and back before finally giving a little wave. She quickly waved back, then left her hand fall to her side. After another nudge from Zabini, and something whispered, Theodore offered her a weak smile, which she returned, though her eyebrows were now angled in a way that signaled concern.

Still grinning, Zabini returned to working on their potion, leaving Hermione and Theodore to stare at each other for a few moments before Hermione gave another wave and turned back towards Neville.

Though she would certainly deny this if asked, Hermione avoided looking at anyone but Neville for the rest of the class, no longer trusting that the room's other occupants weren't participating in some odd display.

When class finally finished Hermione rushed out before Ron or anyone could approach her. Or, at least, she thought she'd been that quick. Someone called after her, though, making it plain that, despite her speed, she was still approachable.

"_Oi, wait up!_"

She hesitated, then halted obediently at the corner of the corridor. She turned around to find Blaise Zabini walking toward her.

"C'mon, love, let's talk somewhere else," he murmured, gingerly closing his hand around her wrist as he turned a corner. As they walked down this new corridor, she quickly pulled her hand free from him. He gave her a sideways glance and remarked, "Assertive, are we? Grand, you're perfect for Theodore. He needs someone to boss him around."

"Someone like you?" Hermione raised her eyebrows at the olive-skinned boy.

"Yes," he answered cheerfully. "Or you. Preferably you, though, since there's nothing really between _us_."

Ignoring that comment, positive it was made to throw her off-guard, Hermione spoke in a level but forceful voice. "What, exactly, do you want me for, Blaise?"

"Ooh, first-name-basis, I _like_ you. Anyway, I'll get to that in a second."

"No. Get to it now, or I won't follow you anywhere."

Zabini looked around the empty corridor, shooting a few rude looks at portraits. "No matter, I suppose here is as good as anywhere."

"For _what_?"

"He's going to give you a good snog, dearie!" a portrait of an old woman and her cow called out from a few feet down the hall.

Ignoring the portrait, Zabini answered, "To warn you. About two things. One; Be more subtle. Malfoy would _love_ an excuse to murder you, and hanging around Slytherins would make things wickedly convenient for him—"

"Slytherins like _you_?" Hermione interrupted.

"Slytherins like _Theodore_," Zabini corrected. "_I _can do what I please. _Anyway_, all I'm saying, dear, is that you really needn't be so conspicuous about your little love affair with Theodore—"

"Our _what_?" Hermione hadn't meant to say anything, but he'd successfully irritated her again.

"Oh, well, whatever it is _now_ it's bound to turn into one eventually. _Anyway_, that brings me to Two."

"Which is?"

"You're not allowed to hurt Theodore." It was a little odd to hear his tone shift so quickly to serious. "Look, I'm the closest thing the poor boy's got to a friend and I'm not exactly stable myself. His dad is awful, from what little I know of him, and his mum died when he was little. He's closer to Mrs. Norris and the house elves than he is to any of the other Slytherins. He's... He's fragile. I dunno what your intentions are, Hermione, but I swear to Salazaar if you break him it won't be Draco Malfoy who kills you in a green light, it'll be me."

Hermione couldn't think of what an appropriate response would be. She'd only spoken to Theodore this week, they could hardly even be called friends, and Zabini was speaking as if one of them had proposed.

"I—I wouldn't hurt him," she finally replied, voice less strong than she'd have liked to have been.

"I really hope you mean it, Hermione. For his sake, and yours." The taller boy looked at her for a minute, then took her wrist again and, before she could think to pull away, pressed the back of her hand quickly to his lips. "So long," he murmured, releasing her hand and turning back down the corridor.

**Z****xXxz**

Note: Yes, this did take me far, far too long to update. For that I'm terribly sorry. I hope you liked this chapter, and my rendition of Blaise. If you did, if you didn't, either way I'd be obliged if you'd tell me in a review.

Take care, and thanks for reading.


	9. Herbs

_**Châtain**____**Foncé**__** & **__**Nightmares**_

**Chapter****Nine****: ****Herbs**

"This is where you smile, mate," Blaise whispered, his voice wavering again on that line between playful and serious. Theodore glanced quickly back at Hermione and smiled at her weakly.

Now grinning, Zabini returned to working on their potion, leaving Hermione and Theodore to stare at each other for a few moments before Hermione gave another wave and turned back towards her potions partner

**eoOoe**

Theodore remembered reading somewhere that spiders perceive time differently. He felt a bit like a spider that week. Life had seemed to move along so gradually before. A slow and stumbling waltz. He knew the steps so well that he only paid attention to the dance when a foot fell out of place.

Now it was different, life's pacing. The change was abrupt. Suddenly the days didn't blend together so easily, interrupted by soon-forgotten night terrors and trips to random corners of the school. His sleeping was still abominable, but his days grew more memorable. Things _happened_, and not just sometimes.

The problem was that they weren't really significant. Except that they were to Theodore, which was utterly baffling. Seeing her in the hallway mattered, hearing her name mattered, and yet these weren't even interactions with her. It was like stumbling into the idea of her stood out as boldly in his mind as a conversation would. It just didn't add up.

This was probably the sort of thing that the more social students would consult their friends about. So, naturally, Theodore made his way out of bed and towards the library.

By the time he'd made it to one of the corridors just before the library entrance, he heard the sharp grumbling of Mr. Filch, from somewhere too near to be far and too far to be near. He almost flinched when he felt something brush his leg, before he realized that it was not, in fact, Mr. Filch crawling around on the floor, but his helping cat instead.

"Good evening, Mrs. Norris," he breathed, hoping that cats were one of the many creature's whose ability to hear outdid wizards'. "I hope you're well."

The cat gazed up at him, head falling slightly to the side, before she made her way in front of him and down the corridor towards the grumbling voice. The voice faded and Theodore silently blessed Mrs. Norris for it.

He ran his hand along the doorframe as he made his way inside the library. It had that feeling of being just one deviation away from smooth that old wood often had, reminding him for a moment of his father's house. Of course, the wood along his bed frame was hardly this fine of quality. It was very old and probably priceless, but it had all the softness of driftwood and none of the clumsy elegance.

His eyes fell upon a particular bookshelf, and Hermione Granger returned to mind, all thoughts of wood texture receding back from focus. Why did he keep thinking about her? Perhaps she was figurative. Maybe she was a symbol, a way for his subconscious to suggest to him that he was starved for human interactions and needed to talk to people more, to laugh as he'd laughed with Hermione Granger. But it never responded that way to interactions with Blaise, or anyone else for that matter. But then, maybe he hadn't felt as fulfilled, because Blaise was so inconsistently genuine.

Theodore ran a hand through his black brown hair and decided to consult the books around him. As thoughts of Blaise and Hermione echoed in his mind, they combined in a new and startling way. Blaise had seemed oddly invested in his acquaintanceship-friendship?-with Hermione. Was there some hidden gain for Blaise? Was he drugging Theodore? Or Hermione? Or both? He certainly seemed intent on distracting them during Potions, perhaps he slipped something in.

But that was paranoid.

But was it?

Theodore wracked his brain for another explanation. It's not as if he could really assume he was being drugged, it was foolish to jump to, and certainly baseless. You could argue anything if you spun events the right way. He was just tired, tired and confused. There was nothing wrong, he reminded himself. No conclusive evidence existed that suggested he was in harm's way.

Letting out the breath he hadn't known he'd been keeping in, Theodore lifted a battered, leather-bound book from a nearby shelf and made for the back of the library. He took the most roundabout way he could, weaving through shelves and tables until he was in one of the library's less frequented corners, next to a section on magical creature legislation. The corner held one table, made of familiarly old and nearly-smooth wood, and Theodore ran his palm along it before sitting cross-legged upon it.

_Uncommon__and__Unusual__Herbs__of__the__Unverified__Variety_ was one of the wordier titles, but Beryl Pfoun probably appreciated syllables in excess more than most authors. Theodore looked at the last page. 312. He would go for page 234, then, and see if it was any good three fourths of the way in.

**Serpens****Sakau**is said by many to be a component in ancient numbing elixirs. Scholars disagree as to whether or not it additionally serves as the third element in famed seer Fiddery Osborne's lost Potion of Lucidious Dreams. Passages suggesting that Osborne included it in his ingredients has been pointed to an ancient account by warlock Chua Ju-Kua in the thirteenth century. Authenticity of this record has been called into question, however. While _serpens__sakua_ grows happily in many tropical climates, it has been banned in most wizarding blocs because of its common use in illegal paralyzing potions and is difficult to come across even by illegal means. (_See__Chapter__ 3: __Consequences__of__Herb__Regulation__.)_

Theodore realized he was smiling at the last sentence. Apparently Ms. Pfoun was one of those, "We can't have laws! They restrict progress!" types, as far as the Potions field. What, exactly, the point of progress was when it jeopardized the safety of a society, Theodore did not know. Not that he cared much for society in general, but he figured a decent citizen unlike himself had rather ought to. Running a hand through his hair again, he looked down at the next description, which was notably lengthier than others on the page. Ms. Pfoun must be excited about this one.

**Serpentum****Comparem****Herba** is one of the most controversial herbs listed in this volume. For years, _Serpentum__Comparem__Herba_, or "snakemate" as it was commonly known, was accepted by the herbological community as an existent plant. It was said to have spread to the Amazonian Confederacy after the purging of magical plants in the mediterranean in the mid fourteenth century, however no primary record of this can be found. Nor have any confirmed samples of _snakemate_been found in the modern Wizarding Republic of Brazil. Despite this, the existence of _snakemate_was not contested until researchers at the Salem Institute published a revised _American__Herbological__Index_in 1967. The original origin of _snakemate_as an accepted herb is unknown, but it is said to have had a place in Greek wizard lore for some time. These stories are consistent with the previous beliefs about the plant, which held that the plant could completely restore health in a recently deceased individual only after the sacrifice of a male Ohia snake.

It was amazing what some people could believe without once thinking to verify it. It was curious that the snake mentioned was so specific, though. Had someone gone to the trouble of looking up possible snakes until they narrowed it down to one? Or had it always been part of the myth? Perhaps the Ohia snake was significant for other reasons.

Theodore set the book down beside him on it's face. He considered getting up to find a book on snake species and place his palms down on the table's surface, preparing to push himself up. Instead, he was again distracted by the wood's texture.

A memory was called to mind, or maybe it was an old dream he was remembering, he couldn't always tell the difference. Sometimes he remembered events as sounds, feelings as images. He didn't always trust his head, and rightly, since it often seemed to be pitted against him.

**eoOoe**

"You never come to watch any more," Ron said with a frown. At first Hermione prepared to respond to the complaint, but she realized it was concern in his voice again. She took a deep breath and put on her most comforting face.

"Really, Ron, I'm alright. I just need to catch up on Potions, I haven't had a chance this week."

Harry and Ron exchanged glances.

"Hermione," Harry began, eyebrows drawing together, "I thought you said you were going to catch up on Potions before."

"I said Charms before. What difference does it make to you, Harry?"

Harry and Ron looked at each other again and she felt the urge to snap at them to cut it out.

"No difference, I guess." He shrugged, looked at Ron _again_, and they returned to talking about Quidditch. Hermione waited impatiently for a few minutes before finally picking up her things and walking off in a huff.

The sudden concern in her absolutely spotless health was getting a bit irritating, especially since she'd made efforts to spend more time with her friends this past week. That's why she was behind in Potions, of course, not that they cared to ask. They were lovely, lovely people and she cared about them deeply, but this morning she wanted to absolutely smack them sensible. This was a terrible impulse, of course, so it was probably safer to be distracted until it passed.

Not surprisingly, there were few people in the library that Saturday morning. What was strange, however, was that the few people there besides Madam Pince formed a cluster of flirtatious fourth years. They were giggling and hiding behind bookshelves at random intervals, occasionally tossing the lighter books at each other when the librarian was turned away.

Feeling less than tolerant, Hermione walked briskly until she was in possibly the least popular part of the library. An interest in "Magical Creature Legislation" wasn't commonly found, to say the least.

Focused on the books themselves, it took Hermione a moment to realize that the corner was, surprisingly, not unoccupied. Tilting her head as she inspected the table, it registered that the corner's other inhabitant was very much asleep. Or dead. No, wait, his body rose and fell as if with breath, he was definitely asleep. There was something familiar about him, though she couldn't see his face or house tie, as he was facing the wall.

His hair was between black and brown, she noticed, and then she realized why he was familiar. Yes, the sleeping person was Theodore Nott sized, his cloak did seem to be sort of draped on him rather than tailored to his form, and, indeed, he had that same dark hair.

Should she wake him? He was asleep on top of a table, which would probably be intentional, if people slept on tables. He seemed to be slightly curled up, so probably not struck down suddenly.

Hermione bit her lip as she tried to judge the best course of action. Deciding to gather more information, she set her things softly on the ground against a nearby shelf, then made her way around the table to better inspect him.

His pale lips were distinctly forming a frown. Hermione almost smiled at the fact that he was generally so inexpressive and yet, apparently, had recognizable expressions in his sleep. If it was a frown, though, it probably wasn't a pleasant dream. Wouldn't waking him up be saving him?

Hermione reached for his shoulder and was about to shake him when a thought struck her. Why would be sleep in a deserted corner of the library if he wanted to be disturbed?

She rethought her plan again a couple of times before realizing that her hand was still resting on his shoulder. She was brought to this realization when the boy shifted, frowned more acutely, and placed his hand firmly around her wrist.

Hermione felt heat rise in her cheeks. This is what she got for being so nosy. Was it better to wait until he let go or risk waking him up as she pulled away?

Her arm growing uncomfortable, Hermione pulled out one of the old wooden chairs and sat down beside the table, wrist still prisoner in the sleeping boy's hold. The chair creaked under her added weight and Theodore's head jerked suddenly away until she saw only his dark hair again. After a moment, the rest of his body shifted to that side, and Hermione felt herself tugged forward as well as he drew her hand against the top of his tie. Now unable to sit comfortably, Hermione stood again, forced to lean slightly towards him.

"Oh, honestly..." she muttered. There was a mumbling from below her in response. She clasped her free hand reflexively over her mouth. Theodore Nott rolled over again, moving to hold her hand close with both hands. He bent towards it, as if it were some sort of stuffed toy or small animal, and she felt his cheek brush against the back of her hand. She tried to gently pull it away, but he held it even more firmly.

Since apparently he had mistaken her hand for some sort of stuffed bear, or something, Hermione decided her only option now was to wake him. "_Ahem_!" she tried a loud, forced cough.  
The sleeping boy shifted but his eyes remained closed and his hold remained firm.

Hermione gave another few dramatic renditions of a cough until finally her performance seemed to have the desired effect. Or, close, anyway. She watched at Theodore Nott sat up and dropped his hands to his sides, his right hand maintaining its grip on her wrist. Finally, his eyes opened, then closed, then opened again a couple of times, before deciding definitively to be open. After looking vaguely up and down the rows of books in front of him, the newly awakened Theodore Nott looked down to see what was in his hand.

**eoOoe**

It was somebody's arm. Or, wrist, rather. He was holding somebody's wrist. Most people probably would have thought to check whose it was, but, assuming it was something of a dream, Theodore's first impulse was to study the wrist itself. He swung around, legs now hanging off the side of the table, and pulled the wrist gently towards him to view it in greater detail. It was thin, but then, the hand attached to it didn't seem particularly large in proportion to the arm, so it probably belonged to a relatively petite person anyway. He turned it over and noted that the skin was slightly paler along the inside of the wrist than the outside, though overall it seemed a bit starved of sunlight.

Theodore wondered sleepily at the texture of the wrist, notions of the feeling of wooden door frames still lurking just under the surface of his thoughts. He lifted his left hand absentmindedly and ran his two primary fingers along a stretch of the paler skin of the wrist, but abruptly withdrew his hand when he heard something above him that sounded like a stifled yelp. Hesitantly, he also relinquished the wrist.

**zxXxz**

Note: I'm aware that the lack of updates is absolutely abominable and I apologize. I'm also probably the worst at replying to reviews, and for that I would apologize and extend my thanks to those who review any way, because I do absolutely appreciate them. Best wishes this new year, you lovely people, you.


	10. Charged

_**Châtain Foncé & Nightmares**_

**Chapter Ten: Charged**

_Theodore wondered sleepily at the texture of the wrist, notions of the feeling of wooden door frames still lurking just under the surface of his thoughts. He lifted his left hand absentmindedly and ran his two primary fingers along a stretch of the paler skin of the wrist, but abruptly withdrew his hand when he heard something above him that sounded like a stifled yelp. Hesitantly, he also relinquished the wrist._

**eoOoe**

Hermione drew her hand back towards her on impulse. She had, up until that point, been trying to turn invisible by standing still with great concentration, but she'd rather given up hope when he raised his other hand. Seeing the index and middle finger extended, Hermione had supposed her pulse was going to be taken, and was entirely startled by the softer motion performed instead.

She wasn't sure if she had made a sound in her head only, or if others could hear. Theodore Nott looked up right after, which strongly suggested the latter. Cheeks probably some shade of white or scarlet, she searched for something to say, some explanation to give. All she could find was a question.

"What-what was that for?" She demanded, making frantic, empty gestures with her hands in an attempt to describe the action.

"Sorry, I thought I was dreaming." Her cheeks grew hotter.

"And-and what, you just, you just _stroke _people's arms in your dreams, do you?" She didn't mean to sound so scolding, but felt an odd need to defend herself. The boy she scowled at did not glare back, but instead looked vaguely confused. A tilted eyebrow was the only indication of this.

"At least you were awake. The way I see it, Hermione, it's far more outlandish for you to have been touching me in my sleep. How did you know to find me here?" His head tilted slightly, as he was apparently awaiting an answer.

"I-I didn't know," Hermione stammered, frustrated at the obvious loss of ground in the conversation. "I was just looking for someplace to read without people making googly eyes and tossing things, and so I came here, and you turned up. Apparently sleeping on a table."

Hermione watched as he looked at her face, still wearing an expression devoid of any strong emotion himself, before he answered, "So, you're in the library, people are being bothersome, you go to this section and you find me here. Then, instead of leaving for somewhere unoccupied, you decided to molest me?"

"I did not molest you!" Hermione protested, her voice far louder than she'd meant for it to be, especially in a library. "I did _not _molest you," she repeated in a forced whisper. "You looked troubled, so I-I was trying to wake you up. I only tapped your shoulder when you _grabbed _my hand and, and _held_ _onto_ _it_."

Theodore nodded thoughtfully and looked down at the edge of the table. Hermione stared at him, still scowling and red-faced, until he looked up at her again. "Well," he said, "In my defence, I was asleep. Besides, you didn't seem to want it back until now, so that's hardly my fault."

The severity of Hermione's expression decreased as she drew her arms across her chest. "Obviously," she replied, "If I pulled my hand back, it would wake you."

Theodore put his palms down on either side of him and leaned back a little, studying Hermione from this new angle. "Yes, of course I would," he agreed. "But wasn't the point of tapping my shoulder that it would wake me up?"

_**eoOoe**_

Theodore watched as she rearranged her crossed arms, shifting her weight back and forth, as if she had to assume a perfect, comfortable standing-position before she would continue. Was she stalling?

"Right, it _was _the point, but you'll have to forgive me for being a bit confused after you held onto my hand like it was some sort of a doll." Theodore looked down at his own hands a little guiltily. He hoped she wouldn't hold his sleeping actions against him. What did it even mean to hold something like a doll?

The only doll Theodore had had as a boy wasn't even truly his. A distant cousin had left it behind once by mistake, then declined to bring it back with her the next visit after having already received a replacement from her parents. It was one of the Romanian cousins whose visits had increased with his mother's illness only to stop abruptly after her death.

His eyes were still on his hands but he didn't quite see them, his thoughts circling around that doll. What had been her name? _Rata_, that was it. And he'd tried to make her dance, but she'd only flopped around, a bit grotesquely, that is, until his father had—

"Theodore? Why won't you answer me?"

He looked up. "Sorry, I was just remembering something. What did you ask?"

Hermione pursed her lips again. Hermione made a huffy sort of noise, and Theodore realized he must've been staring. He winced a little, once again apologetic, and it seemed to soften her. At least, she looked less-scowly when she repeated her question.

"I asked: If you've been sleeping here all night, why are you in uniform? It's not my fault you looked like someone had jinxed you. People generally sleep in pajamas."

He considered this a moment before focusing instead on the almost triumphant look on Hermione's face. Was that it, though? There was something happy and fierce there, but not unfriendly.

"I didn't intend to sleep here. I didn't intend to sleep at all, really, so changing into pajamas never occurred to me."

She frowned. Was his answer disappointing? "So, you aren't one to keep a schedule?" she asked slowly.

He shook his head before remembering that he needed to give Hermione verbal answers. "I don't live in a very organized manner. I see the rationality in it, and I do attempt to keep my living spaces neat, but all the same, it isn't my natural response to chaos."

"What is, then?"

Theodore shifted on the table.

"Falling asleep in libraries." Now it was Hermione's turn to nod. Theodore wanted to explain it more clearly, but there was still a corner of his mind dedicated to considering the singular nature of Hermione's lips. He'd have to settle for this weird, foggy state of mind at the moment.

There was a silence then. It wasn't entirely uncomfortable, it was one of those silences where each person thought about what they were supposed to. Instead, though, Theodore wondered what it was he was supposed to be thinking of.

Finally, it seemed Hermione had collected whatever thoughts she'd been having. Theodore tried to read her face to no avail. She looked calmer, but pink still sat present in her cheeks. She was looking at him to speak first.

Theodore's gaze lingered on her eyes before quickly flitting to the chairs nearby him. "Please, do sit, Miss Granger? Let us continue our conversation with both of us civilly seated." Releasing his left leg from under his chin, he coaxed a chair out from under the table with his foot. Startled, or amused, he couldn't really tell which, the corner of Hermione's lip quirked up suddenly, and she obliged.

"So, Mr. Nott," she began. Theodore's stomach turned a little at the name, but of course she didn't notice. It had been his fault, anyway, for addressing her formally first. Still, there was something like sympathy, or concern, in her face. At least, he supposed that was it. Hard to tell.  
"I'm coming to realize I'm not really well acquainted with Slytherin much at all. You were working with Blaise Zabini in potions, are you two close?"

Theodore was a little taken aback by the question. He studied her face for a moment, looking for some way to gauge whether he was supposed to offer more information on himself, or more on Blaise. He decided to be vague.

"I'm closer to Blaise than most people are, and he to me. All the same, I don't know what we are especially close."

"Oh." This answer didn't satisfy her, but she seemed unable to put her follow-up question into words. Theodore wondered if she would make an excuse and leave, she was looking now at the break in shelves that would lead her to the rest of the library. It would be easy to let her go, but for some reason he felt compelled to draw out the conversation.

"I'm sorry, I'm not a great conversationalist." He realized that was a terrible way to make conversation, so he ran a hand through his hair and tried again. "It's an awfully nice day, shouldn't you be outside watching Quidditch?" That sounded like he didn't want her there. She opened her mouth to reply, and he quickly added, "I mean, I know you came here specifically to molest me, and all, and certainly the library benefits from your presence, but you can understand my curiosity. "

The look on her face implied that she couldn't understand it at all. Theodore felt heart rise in his cheeks and was immediately frustrated with himself. Why did he suddenly have to be terrible at talking?

No, that wasn't true, he was never particularly good at it. He was bad at people, horrible at people. He wished, though, that this once he could actually read and interact with someone properly.

"Well, I'd come to study, but now," her voice trailed off.

"Now?" Theodore questioned, sincerely wondering how the sentence would finish.

"Now there's something more interesting to do."

"More interesting than studying?"

She shrugged. "We'll see. I am sorry for waking you up, Theodore, but I was afraid you were having another nightmare. You said they're bad, so, I didn't want to leave you." Her words were a little fragile-sounding, like she had to force herself to say them.

Theodore was a little surprised at this. Like the embrace before, there was a startling directness and sincerity about Hermione. Perhaps it was a Gryffindor trait.

Not quite sure how to respond, he busied himself with sliding off the tabletop and making his way into the seat next to Hermione, then turning it to face her. She followed suit, turning her chair toward him.

"That was kind of you. I was alright, though. Bad dreams are no more real than good dreams, only more frequent." This drew that concerned expression from Hermione again.

"Have you tried any sort of potion for it?"

He smiled a little at this, not meaning to. "Most common potions, I don't react strongly to at this point."

"Why's that?" Her head was tilted now so that her curls spilled over mostly one shoulder.

"My father," he answered flatly. There was no reply, so he continued. "If you drink potions similar, but not exactly like, certain potions, your body sort of learns how to shield you from it. Like becoming a physical legilimens, but against one potion specifically."

"Like a vaccine," Hermione replied, almost eagerly if he wasn't mistaken.

"I'm not familiar with the term," he admitted, "But perhaps. In any case, my father went through a..." he struggled to find the right word. "He went through a period of time," he sidestepped, "Where he was very weary of potions, so to say. He wanted to be sure I wouldn't be poisoned by anyone, so for a year or two, a lot of my time was spent drinking potions."

_**eoOoe**_

Blaise Zabini's word for Theodore's father came to mind at once. "Awful," he had called him. So, naturally, Hermione was a bit suspicious. Was Theodore covering for something his father had done to him?

"That wouldn't affect basic sleeping potions, though, would it? I mean, unless poorly made, they're hardly known to be dangerous."

He smiled a little at this, which made Hermione nervous.

"You wouldn't think so, no. My father wasn't really in a position to prepare the potions himself, though. So, I went through his books and made what I could."

This seemed impossible, but then, Hermione had been very advanced at maths and literature at a young age, so she supposed she shouldn't underestimate Theodore's potions talents.

"How old were you?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then answered, "Probably eight, maybe seven."

"All on your own?" She tried unsuccessfully not to sound doubtful. If Theodore was insulted by this, it didn't show on his face. Little did, except perhaps a hint of the smile that had graced it moments before, but this Hermione may have imagined.

"Well, my father offered some instruction. It could be a bit... cryptic, sometimes. But usually I found what I was looking for in his books. Problem is, we're on the wrong side of the Roman Empire."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at this. "Are we?"

"Well, for that sort of potionwork, I mean. Ancient Constantinople had this absolutely fascinating community that just churned out potions and antidotes and, eventually, sort of preventative measures for potions. Not protective charms, but other potions themselves. There's a method for it, but I haven't pieced all of it together. All of the best books were burned, and," Theodore stopped suddenly, to Hermione's disappointment. He seemed to realize, as Hermione had, that he'd grown more animated as he spoke, gesticulating with the absent-minded precision of a retired orchestra conductor. Now his hands fell into his lap, and he spoke again in a softer tone. "Right, so, I just tried to build up defenses against all the potions I could find that I thought I could prepare without actually killing myself. I wasn't really thinking about the disadvantages at the time, I just wanted to please him."

Hermione nodded. Now the story did seem reasonable-there was nothing guarded about the way he explained the potions. Still, the role of his father struck her as odd. She wanted to ask more, but knew better.

"I hope you aren't immune to charms, then?" To her surprise, Theodore laughed. Well, chuckled. Barely. It was an airy sound, a slight wisp of a laugh, but he smiled all the same.

"What?" she demanded, smiling hesitantly herself. "What's so funny?"

Theodore's smile vanished. "Oh, I'm sorry. I hadn't meant to laugh. It's just-what you said."

"What about it?"

"It's part of a line. One of those bits of dialogue a bad author turns to when they don't know how to introduce a romantic lead."

"Oh?" Hermione wondered how acquainted he was with poor writing.

"Yeah. Say it again? What you said, I mean. I'll show you, if you want." He looked entirely serious, but being unaware of things made Hermione a little nervous.

"I hope you aren't immune to charms?" she repeated.

There was some weird power in the way Theodore looked into her eyes when he replied, though Hermione would hardly admit this even to herself.

"Oh, your charms are working on me just fine, I assure you." He tilted his head slightly and smirked, eyebrows raised, one fluid motion.

Unprepared for the flawless performance, Hermione felt her cheeks burn. She opened her mind to say something clever, then close it again, plan abandoned. The oddly coy expression left Theodore's face and he looked blank as ever again.

"Sorry if that was weird," his voice was no longer molten as it had been, "It's supposed to be romantic. Obviously it's contrived, though. But there you go, classic wizarding cliché."

Hermione nodded. "I can-I can see someone desperately putting that in a book, yeah. Do you read that sort of thing often?"

Theodore shrugged, seemingly unaware of the uncomfortable increase in Hermione's heart rate. She silently scolded herself for being so easily affected by something so trite.

"There are days when I'll read anything," he explained. "It's good to read the things people leave lying about in the common room."

"Isn't that an invasion of their privacy?"

He shrugged again, seeming to disagree. "Well, it's not like reading their diaries. The funny thing with people is, they don't mind if you read the books they leave around. They see no harm in it because it's not something they personally wrote, they don't understand that what you read can be just as intimate an indicator of your thoughts as what you write."

Hermione smiled at this. "So, the cheesy romance books you've apparently read, they're intimate indicators of your thoughts?"

He laughed a little again. "Oh, yes, definitely. I may seem like a standoff-ish Slytherin who sleeps in libraries, but at _heart _I'm just waiting to whisk every young witch away on my broomstick and read out all the poetry I've written her."

"Only after you've given her a love potion, of course," Hermione corrected.

Theodore nodded solemnly. "Oh, of course. Naturally it will be intended for her close friend, who's more shallow but prettier-faced than she is, but once she's fallen for me, I will _inevitably _fall for her in return, and we'll get along wonderfully."

"Until she realized the potion was meant for someone else," Hermione added. Theodore smiled again.

"Naturally. At that point she will question both the validity of her own love and mine, express this verbally in a shrieking match that all of the school is privy to, then lock herself up in her room for days before her quirky younger friend coaxes her out."

"Then you'll confess your love and apologize again."

Theodore nodded, a smile flickering across his face before he feigned serious again, looking into her eyes. "I'll say, 'Oh, Hermione. I've always needed you, people just don't always know what they need right away. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me? I'll do anything.'"

Determined not to allow herself to become flustered again by his act, Hermione crossed her arms and leaned away from him in her chair. "But dear Theodore, would you die for me? How can I trust you after this?"

"I would sooner die the most gruesome of deaths than see a drop of worry grace your pretty face, fair Hermione," he replied earnestly.  
She knew he was only joking and, what's more, than his lines were positively awful. Still, if bad wizarding novels ever made their way into muggle cinema, they'd have a job outcasting Theodore Nott.

"Do they really use words like 'a _drop _of _worry'_?" she questioned, leaning in again.

Theodore nodded, then held up his right hand. "I swear of it. At every _possible _opportunity."

"How can those Slytherin girls stand to read those books?"

"Now, Hermione, let's not call on gender stereotypes. I'll have you know Goyle reads the _I Fell for an Auror_ series constantly."

"You're joking."

"I'm not. When he isn't beating up second years, he's a die-hard romantic, I swear. This is why it's important to read people's books."

Hermione wondered if the books were a bit above Goyle's level, but almost felt bad thinking it, and chose not to say it out loud.

"Any more interesting revelations about classmates?"

Theodore shook his head. "Most people read what you'd expect. Lot's of magazines-those, I usually skip, to be honest."

"Witch Weekly," Hermione murmured knowingly, to which Theodore nodded.

"What do you read Hermione?"

"Oh, uh.." It was a question she was often asked but never prepared to answer. How could you sum up such an expansive, yet selective, collection of books in one sentence or less? "I suppose mostly non-fiction. But, I like children's books."

"Is it alright if I ask about muggle literature?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows at the question. As usual, Theodore's face was expressionless, so she had to ask after his intent. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Theodore shrugged. He seemed to be getting better at adding words to his shrugs, though, and he spoke not long after. "Well, as a muggleborn, you're in the minority. It must get tiresome when people treat you as a spokesperson for muggleborns, or the resident-muggle expert. No one likes to get defined by something so arbitrary."

Hermione found herself wishing more people approached this as Theodore had. "Fair point. I don't mind though, I suppose because I'm so used to it. But, I appreciate your sensitivity to that. What did you want to ask?"

"Is there magic in it? I mean, so many devices central to wizarding plots have to do with magic. I know muggles have a concept of magic, but is it present in their literature?"

"Oh, omnipresent, just about. There are fairies and dragons, they're just read as something that isn't real, but since fiction is assumedly not real, it doesn't change the writing too much. Though, literature has a sort of a magic itself."

"The magic of reading?" She thought she saw something doubtful in his eyes, and rushed to make herself more clear.

"No, no, not like that. I mean, the suspension of disbelief. You can write something with characters too well spoken not to be fabricated and plots too intricate to be coincidental. Still, people read it seriously. That's all I mean by magic."

Theodore nodded. "Can I ask you something else? You don't have to answer, it's not about books."

Hermione nodded. "Sure," she said, though she herself wasn't.

"Didn't people notice you were a witch? I know we look the same as muggles, but even here you stand out." She was about to disagree and as if he sensed it, he continued, "I'm not being flattering, I wouldn't know how. I'm just wondering, sincerely, how it is no one noticed you were a witch?"

Hermione shook her head. "There's-there's no witchy quality about me. But if there had been, they wouldn't recognize it, would they? They don't know we exist."

Theodore nodded. "Right. That was a stupid question. I'm sorry."

Hermione laughed. "There's no such thing as stupid questions," she retorted, a slightly sing-song element sewn into a phrase too often heard repeated.

"But of course there is. Stupid questions absolutely exist."

In truth Hermione agreed, but the universe still saw fit to prove his statement valid almost immediately after.

"Hermione, what are you doing here?"

_**eoOoe**_

Theodore found it odd that although the question had been addressed to Hermione, Ron Weasley was looking directly at him. He wasn't quite glaring, but he didn't look happy to see Theodore either.

Theodore looked to Hermione, recognizing that he was not to be a participant in the coming conversation. This was when it occurred to him how close they were sitting. Their knees weren't quite touching, but this was more because one of her legs was situated in the space between his own. He hadn't realized they'd gotten so close, and supposed she hadn't either, as it seemed their chairs had naturally drawn towards each other as they'd been speaking. She leaned back now, so their torsos were appropriately distant, but her knee bumped briefly against his as she twisted in her chair to face the newly-present Gryffindor.

Theodore considered pushing his chair back, but there was something guilty in that action, and he didn't want to condemn himself in the unhappy redhead's eyes if he could help it. His other instinct was to run, but that, too, would call undesired attention.

"What do you mean, Ron?" she answered evenly. "I told you I'd be studying here."

"You don't look like you're studying."

"And you've been watching me for hours?"

Ron Weasley's response was to shoot an angry look at Theodore, at which point Hermione exhaled rather sharply.

"Look, Ron, is there something you need? I don't really understand why you're upset."

"You said you'd be studying."

"I was." Her tone was patient, adult.

"Looks like you've been spending time with your friend," he nodded to Theodore, this time keeping his eyes on Hermione. "How is that studying?"

"Some people study _together_, Ronald, as you are well aware. How is this your business?"

"It's my business if you're breaking plans with everyone to cozy up with _him_."

Now Hermione stood, which involved more unintended collisions with Theodore's legs. He took advance of the clumsy transition to move his chair back unnoticed.

"We were not 'cozying up,' for your information, Ronald." Now her tone was low and dangerous. It was a true show of Gryffindor bravery that Ron Weasley didn't seem affected by this. Somehow, though, Theodore expected Weasley didn't want his admiration.

"Oh, yeah? Sitting awfully close for two people studying, though, weren't you?"

"Merlin, Ronald, where was this imagination when we had divination journals?" He didn't respond to the attempt to lighten the conversation, and Hermione's tone turned frightening again. "We were just talking, and you wouldn't have an issue with it if it was a Hufflepuff."

"That's right, I wouldn't. _Hufflepuffs _aren't dangerous, Hermione." He threw an accusatory glance at Theodore.

Theodore didn't think he looked particularly dangerous. Glancing down at himself, all he saw was someone with a weedy sort of frame, messy robes and wrinkled shirtsleeves casting idle shadows on his empty hands. Not exactly a picture of physical intimidation.

"How would you even know if he's dangerous? You've never spoken to him! You aren't even addressing him now!" now Hermione's voice was rising, and Theodore felt the focus of the conversation shifting tragically towards him.

He was the only one not standing, but chose to stay seated even as Ron Weasley looked at him expectantly. He hoped it would be seen as an act of pacifism.

"He's not what's important here, Hermione." Oh, thank Merlin. "It's the betrayal that's the principle of the thing."

"Betrayal?" Hermione's repetition of the word emphasized just how ridiculous the statement was. Theodore realized too late that he'd snorted at this.

No longer with the luxury of avoiding direct interaction, Theodore stood. There was no befriending Weasley now, so his only goal could be to support Hermione without implicating her in whatever imagined evil Weasley had attached to Theodore in his mind.

"You got something to say, snake boy?" Ron demanded, hand sliding into his robes. Theodore crossed his arms, purposefully showing no intention to draw his own wand.

"His name is _Theodore_. Can't you at least try to be respectful?" Hermione fumed, composure fading rapidly.

It was Theodore who answered. "He doesn't have to respect me."

Weasley grinned at this, then turned to Hermione as if to show off. Quickly, though, he faced Theodore when the boy spoke again. "He has, however, failed to show respect to you, Hermione. Which, considering what good care I'm sure you take of him, is absolutely deplorable. Frankly, the way he stormed in, I'm surprised you'll even respond to him."

"See? He's trying to turn you against us!" Ron pointed a damning finger at Theodore, who raised an eyebrow deliberately in response. Frowning, Hermione looked from one to the other.

"Turn her against you?'" Theodore questioned, careful to keep his tone absolutely civil. "Unlike some of her friends, apparently, I don't really feel it's within my right to determine who Hermione does and doesn't talk to. Though-" he turned to Hermione now, "It's hard for me to understand how you can put up with this sort of display, but I'm sure on a whole your friendship is very gratifying."

"What's he mean, _'gratifying'_?" Ron spat, hand still in his pocket as he took a step forward.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "He's saying, Ronald, that _he_ gives _you_ the benefit of the doubt, which is more than you've given him, obviously."

"It's really alright, Hermione," Theodore said softly, stepping away from his chair and towards the shelves behind them. "He doesn't know me."

"I know you well enough, you slimy little-"

"_Ron_!" Hermione interjected, furious.

"He's saying I'm a bad friend. I'm not thick."

"I'm sure you're a fine friend, normally," Theodore explained peaceably with a shrug. "I just don't see why you feel the need to act as if Hermione has committed a crime then ignore absolutely everything she says in her defense."

Ron gave a frustrated look to Theodore before focusing on Hermione. Now his voice was a strange mixture of anger and pleading, from what Theodore could tell. "I am listening, it's just-you don't see is, Hermione. The way he _looks_ at you. It's disgusting." Hermione glanced back at Theodore before opening her mouth to reply. Ron cut her off, tone turned venomous. "You really think he just wants to _talk_? That he loves libraries, just like you? He's just pretending to listen because he wants to get into your robes and you're-you're letting him." Theodore wanted to stop him but the boy's eyes were wild. "It's pathetic, really. I'm just trying to look out for-"

Hermione burst past Weasley through the opening in the shelves, unimpeded by the harsh contact her shoulder made with his as she passed. This left Ron Weasely looking angry, confused, and possibly hurt. He was projecting a mix of emotions far too complex for Theodore to try to pick apart.

There was absolutely nothing helpful Theodore could have said as the Gryffindor boy drew his wand slowly from his robes. His arm stretched out unnecessarily, a straight line level with his wand and leading right to Theodore.

When the boy's mouth opened Theodore braced himself for whatever curse was coming.

"You see what you've done? Now shes crying. You-you made her cry."

It was absolutely the most stark example of denial and projection Theodore had witnessed in a good three years. It was laughable, but this time he was able to suppress that reaction. The best thing to do seemed to be to stand completely still. Clearly, Weasley didn't need his participation for a conversation to continue.

"You're a sick bastard for using her like this. Even if-even if you do really like her, you're bad for her. She deserves better than your lot."

When it became clear that Weasley wouldn't curse him, Theodore slowly returned to his seat, dragging it to align with the table's edge again. Weasley held eye contact with him for a long time before snarling again. "You'd better watch out, anyway. Don't let me catch you two again."

Then he turned away, throwing angry glances behind him a couple of time before his tall figure was lost in the distant cases of books. Now alone, Theodore found the Magical Creature Legislation section just as uninteresting as any other student might.

Pulling his chair out, he took the short route out of the library. It wasn't like him to seek out crying girls, but Merlin forbid a 'drop of worry grace her pretty face,' after all.

_**zxXxz**_

Note: Still inexcusably delayed, I know. I'm terribly sorry. Thank you so much for bearing with me, I hope you liked this chapter alright. Suggestions and criticism welcome. Take care -


	11. Chance

_Châtain Foncé & Nightmares_

Chapter Eleven: Chance

_Now alone, Theodore found the Magical Creature Legislation section just as uninteresting as any other student might._

_Pulling his chair out, he took the short route out of the library. It wasn't like him to seek out crying girls, but Merlin forbid a 'drop of worry grace her pretty face,' after all._

_**eoOoe**_

Theodore was about nine paces past the library doors, still slowing to a close behind him, when it occurred to him just how vast Hogwarts was. He had mapped some of it out, of course, during first year before he lost interest and started mapping the library—a project which inevitably came to a halt once he started reading its contents instead of charting them.

The likelihood of finding Hermione was…

Theodore smiled bitterly to himself. They'd covered this in Arithmancy this week. Professor Vector had used locating someone on the third floor as an example in the week's review—a calculation that would have been easy enough for Theodore to tweak if only he could remember it. Naturally his efforts to read Hermione's homework paper through the reflection in the mirror on Professor Vector's desk had consumed his attention instead.

Theodore mindlessly walked behind a cluster of Ravenclaws towards the nearest staircase and was the only student not to jump when the fifth step hiccupped loudly under them. They broke away onto the next floor, but he continued on to the next flight, his hands in rumpled his pockets.

He inadvertently made eye contact with a freckled, redhaired satyr in a large portrait along the wall and his thoughts turned towards Ronald Weasley without pausing to acknowledge the cliché. If anyone was going to find Hermione now, it was Weasley. They were closer friends, he probably knew where she went for this sort of thing. Or maybe she didn't go anywhere in particular.

Theodore himself was a firm believer in having allotted places for certain feelings. It may have been that feelings were just easier to understand when you sorted them out that way, but more likely this position was a side-effect of the way he'd been brought up to view his own house. That's the room for dining, that's the room for sitting in all day, that father's study where he sleeps, that's the kitchens, that's the room we clean and let guests into, that's the room where mother died, and so on.

Theodore thought about how pink Hermione would turn when he saw her seeing him. If she didn't like being seen staring, certainly crying was much worse? She must be somewhere where no one would look for her, where no one could find here. _Somewhere even I don't know exists_, Theodore thought to himself as the final step before him gave way to the seventh floor.

_**eoOoe  
**_

"Out of line," Hermione mumbled to herself, "That was _completely_ out of line."

As she said it, she knew that she'd practically already forgiven Ron. Every time she thought this, however, she would contradict herself resentfully as his word played back in her mind.  
"_You really think he wants to talk?_"

Yes.

"_That he loves libraries, just like you?"  
_He does. He does he does.

_"He's just pretending  
"He wants to get in your robes  
"You're letting him_"  
Hermione fumed, grasping a nearby pillow tightly. It somehow grew denser the more she squeezed it. With a deep breath, she relaxed her hands. Ron wasn't trying to be mean, he was just mistaken. He was just confused.

But was it so hard to understand? Was it so hard for someone to just want to be her friend? Ron just wanted to be her friend, Harry just wanted to be her friend, _they_ didn't use her—well, not really. But they were friends. Sure, she did Ron's homework, but she also knew that Ron would always stick up for her.

This thought triggered another batch of hot tears. Of course he thought he was sticking up for her—but by insulting her? Insinuating that she was the only one who _loves libraries_? Was it so unbelievable because Theodore was a Slytherin or because there was actually nothing wrong with him? She tried to picture the same accusations flying at her about Marcus Flint and almost laughed.

_**eoOoe**_

Theodore had resigned to the fact that finding someplace that you aren't aware exists is pretty impossible unless you discover it, and discoveries weren't made at random. He didn't have the arithmancy in mind to calculate the probability of randomly stumbling across the precise location of Hermione's tearful self, but he was pretty positive that it would take a good long time to round it up to 1%.

Considering that he had realized how hopeless any efforts to find Hermione would ultimately and unquestionably prove, it was perhaps odd that Theodore continued pacing the corridor with such urgency. It was maybe his fourth or fifth time walking back along the left corridor that he noticed a door he hadn't noticed the first time past. It looked both older and more well-kept than the neighboring doors, and Theodore was sure he would have remembered seeing it. Struck with the fantastical notion that Hermione was behind it, he found that it was unlocked and pushed his way inside.

_**eoOoe**_

Hermione noticed with a start that the door was opening. _Oh Merlin, the last thing I need is for Filch of someone to see my face all blotchy when I get in trouble for being—_

A large, gauzey blue swath of fabric seemed to fall from thin air only to land perfectly over Hermione's head just as the someone in question entered the room.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, I was just—"

"No, it's alright, it's me, Theodore," Hermione said in a voice huskier than she would have liked, unveiling herself quickly and setting the fabric beside her on the plush red couch.

"Oh." Theodore nodded, still occupying the space between the corridor and the room. Hermione waited for him to come inside, but he stood there the same as he had been. He didn't seem to be preparing himself for an exit either, until he said softly, "Uh, I can still go, though, or do you want me to not—not go, that is, because really…"

Hermione realized as his voice trailed off that her face was still her crying-face, a realization that invited more tears into her eyes. This seemed to alarm Theodore, who only now shifted his weight to the balls of his feet as if about to flee.

"No—stay?" Hermione said hurriedly, though she wasn't sure she did want him to stay. She didn't exactly want him to go, either, though, so inviting him in seemed the best option at present.

Theodore nodded and closed the door gently behind him. He took a few steps forward before stopping, suddenly interested in the couch. Hermione thought he seemed uneasy before a great leather armchair arose from the floor beside him. Theodore looked from the chair to Hermione.

"You're supposed to sit in it," she explained. Theodore still looked blank. Hermione sniffed. "You probably were just thinking how you needed a chair?"

Theodore nodded in sudden understanding and sat crookedly in the chair, one leg bent up, the other extended to the floor. "Thanks for the chair," he said, looking very seriously at Hermione.

"It wasn't me, it's the room."

"Oh. That does make sense."

"Does it?" Hermione, taken aback, shifted on the couch to face him more fully.

Theodore shrugged but seemed to sense Hermione's disapproval and made to express himself in words immediately. "Yes. Well, the matter of the door, after all."

"So you didn't come here on purpose?" Hermione's tone lifted only at the end, barely a question.

"No, but you did. Not to hide from me, I presume, or I wouldn't have found you?"

"I wasn't hiding," Hermione replied tersely. Recognizing doubt flash briefly across Theodore's face, she added, "Much."

"I'm sorry I interrupted you not-hiding under that blanket, then," Theodore said calmly, gesturing to the wrinkled blue material on the seat of the couch.

"It's not a blanket," Hermione corrected.

"So it isn't," Theodore agreed easily.

He was silent for a while, and turned his gaze away from the couch and onto the ceiling. Hermione watched his dark eyes as they moved about, studying ever visible centimeter. After a while they rested on one spot in the corner, and a small-ish smile found its way onto Theodore's lips.

"Theodore, why are you here?" Hermione asked at last.

Just a trace of the smile was left when Theodore looked back at her and answered evenly. "Because you need me."

"I beg your pardon?" His words froze in Hermione's stomach and chest, catching hold of her voice and forcing it out in a bit of a squawk.

Theodore's eyebrows suddenly drew together in confusion. "That is to say—this room, it brought me a chair because I needed one. For some reason the door wasn't visible to me until a certain point in time, or perhaps it didn't exist until then—either way, it doesn't operate to serve the needs of the people outside of it, does it? So if the door suddenly appeared, it must have done so to serve you. Doors are for letting people in or out. Since it wasn't letting you out, it must have been letting me in. Or, I'm wrong?"

"You're…" Hermione couldn't bring herself to say it. She hated herself for tearing up again as she felt a rush of emotion.

"The ceilings in here look an awful lot like the basement of the Pantheon in Paris, don't they?" Hermione watched as Theodore became obscured by blurriness. "They do," he agreed with himself quickly, "Possibly the same architect—"

"Theodore."

"Yes?"

_**zxXxz**_

Note: More soon over Winter Break and that's a solid promise.


	12. Quartet

**_Châtain Foncé & Nightmares_**

**Chapter Twelve: Quartet**

_"The ceilings in here look an awful lot like the basement of the Pantheon in Paris, don't they?" Hermione watched as Theodore became obscured by blurriness. "They do," he agreed with himself quickly, "Possibly the same architect—"_

_ "Theodore."_

_ "Yes?" _

_**eoOoe**_

"I'm sorry about Ron." Hermione's throat still felt thick but she managed to speak without stuttering or losing her voice. To her surprise, Theodore laughed a little.

"You shouldn't apologize to me. He should apologize to you. And maybe I should apologize to him? I'm not entirely certain. But definitely the apologetic one oughtn't be you."

Hermione searched his face for some trace of dishonesty. It seemed the sort of thing to say insincerely just to get someone to stop crying, but, as far as she could tell, he'd meant it. She brought her sleeve up and dabbed her eyes with her wrist before setting it back down in her lap and looking up at Theodore again.

"What were you saying, about Paris?" she asked.  
"About the Pantheon in Paris," Theodore correctly lightly. "When you go down into the basement, where they keep all the notable bodies, the ceiling is rather like the ceiling in this room."

"You mentioned getting French copies of books before—do you speak it, French?" Hermione asked this as she dabbed her eyes again, the flow of tears now slowing. Theodore shifted contemplatively in the armchair before he answered.

"Sort of. I can read it well enough, and I'm alright at understanding it spoken, but I'm not the best at speaking it, myself. Passable, I'd say."

"Did you take it in—" Hermione began to ask about primary school when she remembered that most wizards don't seem to attend anything before secondary school. She felt her cheeks burn a little, but Theodore just watched her with the same expression he'd had on as she began, apparently politely ignoring her verbal stumble. "Where did you learn it, I mean?"

Theodore looked up at the ceiling while he answered. "Really wealthy old families are always hiring private teachers for their children. I never really had any, though, until after my mother had, well, yes, at which point my father hired a couple of teachers who stuck around for a bit before they were fired. One of them was Belgian, not the Flemish sort. Learned a bit of verbal stuff from him, then I continued trying to teach myself after he left. Gave up after a few years, of course, but I prolly meet conversational standards."

_**eoOoe**_

Theodore's eyes traced the familiar stone arches that blossomed out of stocky trunks at the bottom of the wall. He closed his eyes completely for a moment. The lines from the ceiling now stamped vaguely in a sort of magenta against the rusty crimson of his closed eyes. He opened them again and looked over at Hermione. Remarkably, she seemed to have stopped crying, though apparently she hadn't noticed because she still paused to dry her cheeks with her shirtcuff.

This was good, then, talking? He'd meant to distract her before by remarking on the truly remarkable ceiling, but perhaps it was less interesting to her, somehow, than his measly French education was. He wasn't generally eager to revisit his pre-Hogwarts days aloud, but if somehow calmed Hermione, he'd make do.

"I always wanted to learn French," Hermione murmured, a little earnestly. "I remember some random words, but they're usually from footnotes in translated copies of books. The closest I've come to really learning a second language is Ancient Runes."

Theodore opened his mouth to say something on the subject of Ancient Runes, but he remembered earlier when he had shared what he thought would be an interesting and, more importantly, distracting observation about the ceiling. It had been talking about himself—or maybe talking about languages?—that had succeeded in helping Hermione calm down. So that was what was to be done instead.

"My mother was Romanian. Well, her parents had been. So she saw me as Romanian by extension, and I grew up speaking it along with English. I only really read it now—it's funny, I've never actually been to Romania. Everyone always came here."

He was surprised to see that Hermione looked sort of sad again. She didn't look like she was going to cry, but her eyebrows had drawn together and her lips were sort of pursed and sort of pouting. It was difficult to focus on why she was upset, since her lips looked sort of appealing when they were set that way. And then they were moving.

"Oh, Theodore. I'm so sorry."

Theodore's head tilted automatically in confusion. "It's really alright," he assured her, "I like reading much better than talking anyway. In fact, it probably applies to English most of the time, too. Can read English, don't speak it often." He spoke the last sentence as if he were reading it off of a resumé. To his delight, Hermione seemed mollified.

"I think, if I could read any languages, I'd want to learn ancient Arabic. All those scrolls in Mali that haven't been translated? Thousands of books that haven't been read in years! And who knows what we could learn from them." Hermione seemed to excite herself just talking about it. Theodore admired her enthusiasm and found him smiling a little. He decided not to push this smile down, though. People usually like if you're enthusiastic with them, at least, he figured Hermione did.

"I think one of the biggest mistakes people make is to imagine people before us as more stupid than we are," he mused. "I don't mean, like, the 50's. But, you know, civilizations from thousands of years ago—people are scared to even call them civilized! And then so many of the spells we have today are derived from theirs, and there's so much that we know they had sorted that we take years to reinvent. Not that we haven't made general progress—wait, maybe we haven't."

"Haven't we?" Hermione questioned.  
Theodore was realizing now that he wasn't exactly sure. "Well, I guess it'd take a proper study. You mentioned Mali, after all. The Tuareg Warlock Council worked something out with the government last year, but even so, who's to say life wasn't better in the 14th century?"

"Maybe it was better in Mali but worse other places? I'm not really an expert on Malian history," Hermione admitted with what sounded like sincere regret.

"Ah, but it's better other places now and worse in Mali. So by saying we're all better off today, what we really mean is the nations that we British care about are better off today, and those nations are all in Europe."

Hermione smiled again. "Don't be silly, Theodore," she replied softly. "Surely we don't care about _France_. And we'd love it if China returned our letters."

Theodore chuckled at this. If Hermione was prepared to speak lightly about this sort of thing, that was probably leagues away from crying. And for Hermione not to be crying was pretty much at the top of his list right now. "When you think about it, it's sort of a—a love square, would you call it?"

Hermione shook her head. "I'm firmly of the opinion that such a scenario should be billed as a love-quartet. Who are the players in this, though? Britain, France, China. I only count three."

_**eoOoe**_

Hermione felt her mood lifting. Her hopes were lifted, as well, that she would see the reappearance of the silly, passionate Theodore she'd met before. She felt, for lack of a better term, giddy.

"And that miscount, Ms. Granger, will be why Western dominance falls. The fourth is Mali, of course. You see, Britain affectionately hates France, but Mali likes France because France never really lets go once it's got you, does it? France will only do so much for Mali, though. It's only a matter of time before China gets into Africa deeper and deeper. They can conquer East Asia, but Africa is too far, so they'll invest instead. Britain wants China's wealth, but China knows Britain is a lost cause, so, _tragically_ for us, it will pour its gold into countries like Mali."

To Hermione's horror, her stomach chose the fragment of silence after Theodore finished talking to make a loud gurgling noise of protest. Before she could apologize, Theodore made a sober pronouncement.

"You're hungry." He looked around the room for a moment before looking back to Hermione. "This room _does_ follow—"

"Gamp's Law, yeah," Hermione finished for him. "No food."

Theodore nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I'll just pop out for a bit then and bring back—"

"No," Hermione interrupted again. "I mean, I'll come with you."

"To the Great Hall?" He raised his eyebrows in unmasked astonishment.

"To the kitchens, then. Follow me?"

_**eoOoe**_

Theodore watched at Hermione stood up and straightened her uniform. He did the same and watched as she approached him. She mumbled something like, "Come on," but it was drowned out from Theodore's thoughts by the unexpected sensation of her taking his wrist in her hand as she led him to the door. He quickly rebounded from the disappointment he felt when she released his hand in the corridor and fell into step beside her.

"The kitchen staff won't mind if we just show up?" He asked. He had always wondered what the kitchens were like—were they spacious and comfortable, as he would expect under the Dumbledore's leadership—or were they stiff and narrow, recalling a building constructed under crueler conditions?

"They're usually happy to host us. I tried to convince them to advocate for holidays and wages and all, but they weren't exactly keen on it. A friend of mine works down there, actually," Hermione replied. There was something different in her tone, he couldn't quite tell what it was.

"Really? You've an elf friend?" Theodore was surprised. For someone with so many friends it really was odd that Hermione would even this much time with him.

"Yes, I do," she answered sort of sharply.

"Cool," Theodore said. Then he decided to elaborate, in case Hermione would be disappointed by his one-word answer. "I've never really known any house elves that well."

"Oh? They keep out of sight, yours?"

"Oh, no, I haven't got any. Blaise's mum has about ten of them, but I've never spoken to them. They're usually making her dresses or attending her teaparties."

"Teaparties?" Whatever had been in her voice, suspicion maybe, it was almost gone now.

Theodore felt a little bad sharing something personal about Blaise's family, but it wasn't as if Blaise made any secret of his dislike for his mother and her many strange ways. "Yeah," he explained, "She gets very paranoid around other witches, so she spends a lot of time just with the house elves. Teaparties and things. I've only really been to his place twice, anyway. I've been to the Malfoy's, but they're much less open about their house elves."

"Oh, they're absolutely terrible to them is what they are!" Hermione fumed abruptly. Theodore hadn't meant to make her angry and regretted mentioning the Malfoy family.

"Anyway, I look forward to meeting your friend if they aren't busy."

_**zxXxz**_


End file.
